Deep Dark Secrets
by Cha Oseye Tempest Thrain
Summary: Sometimes there's things you'd rather the world didn't know. Rated 'R' for language and violence.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I own neither _Enterprise_ nor its characters. This is for entertainment purposes only.

Author's note: This depiction of Trip's brother and of his possible past are in no way related to my other works. However, I've always been intrigued by the fact that he gives away so little. The question is… why?

**Deep Dark Secrets**

**Prologue: Reality**

"You are such a shit."

"No, you are."

"I hate you."

"I'm better."

"Are not."

"Are so. And I'm not a bastard."

"Shut up! Don't say that, just shut up, shut up, shut up!"

… chaos, bright colours and cheap lights. Then yelling, and a loud noise, then more yelling. "…shut up, shut up, shut up!"

He sat up with a jerk, kicking until the blankets tangled around his feet and he could dislodge them. Why now? He thought he was done with nightmares. He got up padded into the bathroom, and switched on the light over the mirror. He stared at the stranger looking back at him, trying to figure out who that person was. There was a certain familiarity to the blond hair and the bright blue eyes, but it looked like someone else. _Is that who I've become?_

He reached out to touch the image, with its slender nose that gently curved up at the end and those eyelashes that women claimed to envy. He half-expected the cool glass to warp under his fingers and suck him into another world, or permit that person entry into this one.

He left the mirror and went to the closet, pulling the door open wide and then simply standing back to look. Most of it was uniforms, the bright pips indicating a commander and the red strip announcing that he worked in Engineering. He knew that if he put one on, that's who he would be: Charles 'Trip' Tucker the Third, chief engineer of the Starship _Enterprise_. He'd put on the character, go to work for the day, then come home and be _what_?

Still Charles Tucker, but who was he? Ask anyone out there, and they wouldn't have a clue. Oh, sure they knew some things. He had a brother and a sister, and presumably parents… he had mentioned them, hadn't he? Oh yeah, and a dog at one time, the dog was a nice touch. And he liked key-lime pie, and pecan pie, just like every good Southern boy should. And he was a lady-killer, don't forget that. But they were just pieces, and how long before someone put the pieces together and realised that the picture wasn't there? How long before they knocked on his door, identifying him for what he truly was? A fraud. A con man with a big bright smile and all that confidence charm. _Trust me; you know you can. I'm a trustworthy guy._ And they did, every one of them. Nobody called his bluff, not even Jon who had enough to go on to make a guess.

_Best not to disappoint the marks_. With a sigh, he pulled out one of the uniforms and got dressed.

* * *

"What's going on?" Trip slid into his seat and scanned his panel. A call to the bridge usually meant something big. It didn't seem to be anything wrong with the ship, though if it was, he probably wouldn't have been paged to come here. 

"We're getting a distress call." Jon didn't even look up as he answered. "Apparently it's an Orion slave vessel."

Trip suppressed a growl. Jon's description of the market paired with T'Pol's accounts of the effects of the neural restraints flashed back into his mind. Orions were not his favourite people right now.

"… but the message is in English," Jon continued. He nodded at Hoshi who put it on the loudspeakers.

"Mayday, mayday. We have an emergency." The speaker didn't sound scared though. The words were masked under a slow, heavy drawl, and Trip felt his stomach freeze.

_No, God, please, no._ His fingers refused to work, and his mouth grew dry. _Anything… anything…_ He heard Hoshi asking what the emergency was. No… it didn't matter what the emergency was. They had to get out of here, they had to go. He wanted to scream it, but the words wouldn't come. They wouldn't listen anyway. Nobody ever listened. Nobody ever listened until it was too late. _Don't go into the basement with the monster._

"Trip?" That was Malcolm's voice now, and he sounded worried.

"Trip?" And now Jon. "Trip, what's wrong with you?"

_I'm coming apart. The game is up. I'm busted._ Things didn't sound right, didn't feel right, didn't look right. He tasted the voices, heard his skin and felt them all looking at him.

"Get Phlox!" Jon sounded scared, and Jon wasn't the scared type.

_Round and round and round she goes. Where she is, nobody knows_. Sometimes even the con-man had to lose.

"Travis, I want you to get a shuttlepod and go and get those people off! Malcolm, you go with him." Hands grabbed Trip's arms. They might have been Jon's but he couldn't tell.

_No, Jonny. Don't do that. You don't want to do that_. He wouldn't listen though. Nobody ever listened. Nobody ever listened until it was too late and the damage was done and irreversible. Then, thankfully, the world shut off.

He sat up screaming, and a pair of hands pushed him back down. "Take it easy, Commander. I still haven't finished my scans. Apparently, you fainted. Have you had any fainting episodes before?"

"I can't…" As soon as Phlox let him go, he rolled off the bed and scrambled to his feet. Jon wasn't here, which meant… _Oh no._

He dodged the doctor and sprinted out into the hall. _The shuttle bay_. That's where Jon would go, to greet their new guests. He heard Phlox yelling after him, but fortunately the Denobulan wasn't built for speed, and passing crewmembers hesitated before thinking to grab a senior officer. He had to get there. He had to stop…

"Jon, no!" He darted up to his captain and friend, grabbing the man's uniform. "Jon, we need security down here right now." He glanced at T'Pol, but she looked at him like he wasn't making sense.

"Shouldn't you still be in sickbay?" Jon shook him off. The lights flicked on to indicate that the shuttlebay had repressurised. They were back.

Jon stepped through the doors, and Trip found himself with no recourse but to follow. He stood there mutely as the shuttle door lifted upwards. And watched himself step out of the shuttle.


	2. The Confidence Man

**Disclaimer**: I own neither _Enterprise_ nor its characters. This is for entertainment purposes only.

**Author's note**: Thanks to my betas, whom I horribly forgot to thank in the prologue. That would be gaianarchy, kate98 and silvershadowfire. And if you haven't read the prologue yet... it makes more sense when you do. A horizontal line indicates a break with no change in POV. (dds) indicates a change in POV.

**Chapter One: The Confidence Man**

Trip braced himself, watching as the lips curved into a familiar smile, and the eyes twinkled with that brilliant blue spark. Here it was, the past come to kill him and ferry him into hell.

"My, my, what a surprise! All the way out here, and I find my big brother."

"Hello, James." His voice sounded dead to his ears, hardly a shock since he felt dead. Was dead. Commander Charles Tucker was no more. He couldn't be. No one would let him live through this.

"This is your brother?" Jon sounded amazed, as though two identical people shouldn't be related. "You didn't mention that you were…"

"We're not." Not according to chronology. James Tucker was born two years after Charles Tucker, thus nullifying any possibility of twinship.

"Well, you might find some scientists who would disagree." James' smile widened and he extended a friendly hand. "James Tucker, but my friends call me Jimmy. Trip and I were both well planned. Very well planned, you could say."

"Can we discuss this later?" Preferably not at all. But he knew Jon was interested now, and T'Pol too. And when Phlox found out…"What the hell were you doing on an Orion slave ship?"

"Rebelling. Like good Southern boys do." A few other people crowded around the door to the shuttlecraft now. They looked scared and uncertain, but that was never James, never unless he found it necessary. "I decided I wasn't going to spend my life on a mining colony. These people agreed."

"Just like you weren't going to spend your life in prison?" The words came out before he could stop them. He hadn't meant to say that. That gave away too much. But Commander Tucker was dead, so what was the point in trying to save him? Better to try and save the innocents.

James' face clouded. "Are you having your troubles again, brother?" He lowered his voice, so that no one outside the small group could hear.

"Troubles?" Jon's eyes narrowed and darted back and forth between the two.

"We don't talk about it much, outside family. Anyway, the doctors said it was just something hormonal, and it settled down right after puberty." James looked concerned, right down to the nervous darting of the eyes and the lick of the lips – like he felt uncomfortable or something.

_Yeah, right_. Trip shook his head. "James…"

"He'd pass out for no apparent reason. Then he'd come to and start saying crazy things."

Jon's gaze flicked back over to Trip. The world did its crazy shift again. That hadn't been what the doctors said. They said it was panic attacks. Anxiety. But nobody believed him when he said why he was anxious. Nobody listened. And then it was too late. Then it was too late.

(dds)

The big guy grabbed Trip's shoulders before he hit the floor. "Get Phlox again." He looked at Jimmy with a glare that demanded the truth. "You and I are going to have a chat."

"Yes, Sir." Jimmy helped lower his brother to the floor. "Anything I can do to help." _Sounds like you haven't told your friends here much of anything._ But that was Trip. Always pretending that things didn't happen. The master of denial. _Prob'ly weren't too happy to see me showing up._ Not if this spell was any indication. But that was Trip too: he'd never quite mastered subtle. And always making up all those stories. Looked like he hadn't changed much.

He heard hurried footsteps and sensed someone behind him. Probably the pilot and that skinny little guy who claimed to be from Security. _Not exactly who I would have pictured in the job_. But looks could be deceiving, he knew that better than anybody. The expressions on their faces when they got a look at him told him everything. _I bet you barely even told them that you have a brother._ Then again, Trip never did like the truth of that. And what Trip didn't like, he simply ignored, or ran away from.

Nobody said much until the alien guy showed up. He must have been the doctor, because he started running scans before he even noticed Jimmy. _That's a doc for ya, patients first._ But when he did…

"Astonishing." He ran the scanner over Jimmy too, then blinked at the results.

"Yup." Jimmy grinned. "Bet he never told you about that."

"Right now I'm a little more concerned about Trip, Doctor." Obviously, the big guy was the one in charge. He had that command aura about him: you instantly started to obey everything he said.

As they hustled Trip out of there on a stretcher, the big guy turned to Jimmy. His face was unreadable, but those eyes seemed to be trying to read Jimmy. "I'm Captain Jonathan Archer. And like I said, you and I are going to have a chat."

_

* * *

More like an interrogation_. Then again, some people just couldn't get out of that mode, especially when dealing with strangers. And this Captain Archer seemed to have a lot of built in hostility and frustration. Understandable, really. After all, when it turns out that someone you thought you knew hasn't told you a thing about them… well, that could be pretty shaking.

"Trip says you're not twins, but Phlox says you are. Who should I believe?"

Jimmy laughed, disarmingly. "I guess that depends on what you're using for your definition of 'twin.' Yes, genetically we're identical. But I was born two years later."

Archer wrinkled his brow, trying to work it out the way everybody always had trouble working it out. Conventionally, it was impossible.

"Like I said, we were very well planned. I'm sure you've heard the term 'test-tube baby' before."

"Yes…"

"Well, that's what we were. The embryo split, and Mom and Dad had one of them frozen for a couple of years. That would be me." And there you had it. Identical genes on a two-year delay. Just a case of well thought out family planning, that was all. Nothing serious.

"I see," Archer nodded. "I've got to admit, that defensiveness does kind of go with Trip. Insisting that…"

"…he's the big brother," Jimmy agreed. "Yeah, that's always been Trip. Always trying to keep me out of trouble."

"Sounds like he didn't quite succeed."

Jimmy laughed again. "You mean that prison thing? That's a little more complicated. You should probably ask Trip all about that."

Archer raised his eyebrows.

"I just don't think I should be discussing it, if he hasn't. I mean…" Jimmy cut himself off. It _was_ big-brother's story as much as his, after all.

"I'll definitely be talking to him," Archer confirmed. "In the meantime, maybe you can help us with the medical mystery."

"Like I said, he used to be like that all the time. He'd have these… episodes. He'd just suddenly pass out, then when he woke up he'd say some of the strangest things." Jimmy shook his head, sadly. "Most times it was accusing me of stuff – one time he even said I killed the neighbour's dog."

"Did you?" Archer seemed inclined to cover all bases here.

Jimmy snorted. "Are you kidding? Nah, the dog ran away or something. But man, you should have heard him. He was _convinced_. Mom and Dad even took him to a doctor." He sighed. "But I thought he was over all that. I mean, when I heard he made it in Starfleet, I thought he was okay."

Archer shook his head, disbelief written on his face in block letters with black crayon. "I've never seen anything like this, before. I've known him longer than almost anybody else here…" He blinked. "But after today, I'm not sure how well."

Jimmy looked contrite. "I'm sorry. I wish this hadn't gotten to be such a problem." He sighed. "Sometimes… sometimes I really feel sorry for him."

(dds)

_Please, oh God, no._ Trip stared up at the lights, knowing he was back in Sickbay, and that somewhere out there was James. What had he said? How much had he told? _I wish you were dead_. That was the worst thing: that the Xindi took Elizabeth and left James roaming around. How could you believe in a God, when things like that happened? He felt a sudden urge to call his parents, and to warn them. But it would be useless. They didn't know. They didn't even _want_ to know. Even when the truth had hit them in the face, they'd denied it.

_That's why I don't go home_. That was why he'd hid out on _Enterprise_ when they last went back, running with T'Pol for the safety of Vulcan. _Elizabeth was the only one_. Maybe she didn't believe, but she didn't disbelieve either. She remained wary, maybe of both of them, but at least that kept her safe. _But how do you tell people what they don't want to hear?_

You didn't. You just kept it to yourself and played the game that everything was fine. You covered up, and played nice. It was the only way to survive.

"Doc?" He found his voice. "Can I go?" He didn't want to stay here. Phlox couldn't do anything for him.

"Commander, you have passed out twice within the past hour, and for no apparent reason." Phlox fussed over a couple of read-outs. "I still have more tests to run."

_I had a reason. It's called 'my brother is back, and my life is over.'_ But he couldn't say so, saying so would only give credence to James' claims. _'He'd come to and start saying crazy things.'_ If he told the truth, Phlox would lock him up, probably in restraints. He had to get out, he had to find out what kind of damage had been done.

"As far as I can tell, the cause seems to be extreme hypertension. Do you have any idea what could be causing it?"

_Yeah. His name is James, and he's not my twin._ "I've been a little stressed lately, Doc. Lots of things have happened. I'll be fine."

"You are not fine, Commander. According to your brother this is a reoccurring medical condition. I find that rather interesting, since he doesn't appear to suffer from it, and given that he is your twin…"

"He's not my twin!" He felt his hands beginning to shake. There were lots of differences between them. _We never shared a womb. Any number… any number of things could have been different._ Different chemical influences, Mom probably didn't eat all the same things. Different physical development. Just because the DNA was the same, didn't mean that _they_ were the same. _Because we're not. We're not, we're not, we're not._ Why couldn't people _see_ that?

He knew the answer, of course. What people saw was the identical exterior, and thought that things ran deeper. Not everybody, of course, but when you threw in the upbringing… _which wasn't identical, either._ It couldn't be, with one older and one younger. _Different experiences, different responsibilities. Different _identities_, for Chrissakes._

"Genetically, however, he _is_ identical. The differences are no more than they were between you and Sim…"

Oh God, Sim. The third, unwilling member of the trio and, if anything, more proof that identical was not. That funeral… he hadn't seen himself in the coffin, he'd seen James. He hadn't cried, because he'd never cry for James. But he'd finally felt like it was _over_. He'd prayed his brother was dead, and seeing Sim in the coffin somehow made it real. _My mistake_.

Then he remembered something. _Thank God for Denobulan medical ethics._ "No, Doc. No more tests."

"Commander, I have to run these tests or…"

"I don't want you treating me. I am refusing medical care." Phlox couldn't treat a patient without their consent, though God knew Jon had forced him into it enough times. But Jon wasn't here right now, and didn't have a say.

"Commander, that's highly…"

"I don't care how much you don't recommend it. Now leave me alone." Trip pushed himself off the biobed. "If anyone wants me, I'm going to my quarters." At least if they locked him in there, he could escape. But his quarters were home, _his_ space. A comfort zone where he might stand a chance of being able to think, and come up with a plan.

But as soon as he stepped through the doors, he knew he was wrong. His quarters were no longer safe, no longer comfortable.

"Hello, brother."

James' voice oozed out of the darkness. He should run, he knew it, but he froze instead like the scared rabbit he was. The snake had him hypnotised.

"That wasn't very nice of you, earlier. Leaving me alone like that without even a formal introduction to your friends.

"I…" he cut himself off, mid-apology. He didn't need to apologise. He'd done nothing wrong. "No."

James stepped out of the shadows. "And what you did say wasn't nice at all."

Trip shook his head. "What did you tell him? When he asked?"

"I told him it was your tale. You know, he strikes me as a man of integrity."

Trip nodded.

"I don't think he's gonna be too pleased. That you lied and all."

"I didn't lie," Trip said, softly.

James' eyes grew wide. He could fake anything. "You mean you told him all about it?"

Trip said nothing.

James chuckled. "I didn't think so. A lie by omission. Your favourite kind, if I remember."

Trip stayed silent. There was nothing he could say that James couldn't twist.

"No, I don't think he's going to be too pleased at all." James smiled. "Pity, he seems like a nice man. Shame to disappoint him like that. But you never could keep your big mouth shut, could you brother?"

_Damnit, why?_ Why James? Why now? He'd tried so _hard_. And now…

James stepped even closer. Trip felt his heart speed up, heard himself starting to hyperventilate. He tried to focus, use the breathing tricks that T'Pol taught him, but it was no good. Panic had him now, a near Pavlovian response. James had him too well trained.

"Say it." James backed Trip up against the wall and planted a hand to either side of his brother's head. Personal space was gone.

"No," Trip heard his own whisper of defiance. He wouldn't say it, he wouldn't. This was a kid's game, and they weren't kids.

"Say it." James leaned in until their faces almost touched, his breath hot and sour in Trip's face.

Trip closed his eyes, feeling himself begin to shake. He turned his head away, knowing it was useless, knowing that there was no escape.

"Say it." James' voice grew harder now, and Trip heard himself whimper. He shouldn't do this. He was older now, stronger now. Independent. He didn't need to do this, didn't need to play this game. But as Sim had proven, the genes remembered, and that memory was stronger than any will he possessed. His jaw moved of its own accord, his lips and tongue forming the words that James wanted to hear, the words that would make him go away.

"You're better." They weren't even a whisper, barely a breath, but it was surrender nonetheless.

"_Say_ it."

"You're better." Louder this time. _Let him win_. With James there were always two ways things could go. You never wanted to know about the hard way. Trip knew the hard way, better than anyone. It was Trip whom James perfected things on. _His favourite toy_.

James smiled, a bright friendly smile, and patted Trip on the cheek. "Don't forget it. I'll check in on you later." He walked out the door, and Trip heard him greet someone in the hallway with a laugh. Trip sank down to the floor, his body giving out entirely. He wondered how long he had.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the comm chimed. "I'd like to see you in my ready-room." 

"Yes, sir." Trip scrambled to his feet, and by a miracle, they supported him. _Dead man walking_. James was right, Jon wasn't going to be pleased at all. _I may never be allowed to call you 'Jon' again._ He looked around his quarters and swallowed hard. He might not be coming back here again. He might end up going straight to the brig, which might be what he deserved. It all depended on how mad Jon was.

He closed his eyes as he rang the doorbell. This physically _hurt_. He'd finally thought he was starting to make it. He had friends, good friends, and a good job and even – hardest to believe of all – a good name. But it was all illusion, a carefully constructed con in which he was the mark. He'd played himself, made himself believe in something he knew was too good to be true.

"Come in." He could tell from the steel in Jon's voice that this wasn't going to be a friendly chat. This wasn't Jon and Trip, good buddies from way back, this was Captain Archer and Mister Tucker. He wasn't even sure he'd get to call himself 'Commander' anymore.

He stepped quickly through the door and stood stiffly at attention. _Play by the rules. Assume nothing._

"Phlox told me that you refused treatment. Why?" Jon didn't even look at him. Instead, the captain stared out the window, a sure sign that he was emotionally close to snapping.

"There's nothing he can do for me. It's stress."

"You've been stressed before. You haven't passed out."

"No, Sir." No sense elaborating, he was in enough trouble already.

"And despite the fact that you are very highly educated, I don't recall hearing about any degrees in medicine." Now Jon did turn around, wearing that mask of barely controlled emotion that Trip had only seen once or twice. No, he was certainly not pleased. "Of course, it shouldn't surprise me, seeing how little I know about you at all." Of course, Jon would be hurt. It was never good to find out that your best friend kept secrets.

"No, Sir." He fancied he could hear James laughing. How could he have given him that opening? He should have known that James would pick up on the fact that Trip and Jon were more than just Captain and Commander, and that this friendship would be the first that James would try to destroy. _I'm not allowed to have friends_. Friends were a support network. Friends would threaten James' control. Which made it wrong on another level too: anyone who Trip let be his friend would get hurt, and that would just be irresponsible.

"Would you care to elaborate on that?" You couldn't put more sarcasm into Jon's voice. It simply wouldn't fit.

Trip said nothing. What could he say? There was nothing to say.

"According to James, I should ask you about what you meant by him and prison."

_You don't want to know Jon… you just don't…_

"Commander…"

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. _Why? Why, why, why, why, why?_

"I'll make it an order if I have to."

"Jon, please." His throat tightened, making it hard to breathe.

"Fine. It's an order. What's the story?"

_Just tell him_. Tell him and get it over with. Otherwise James would relate his version, and things would only be worse. "We robbed a liquor store. Somebody died." It shouldn't have been like that. Nobody should have gotten hurt. Hell, they shouldn't have done it at all. But for James, 'shouldn't' meant nothing. James wanted to do, so James did.

"You did _what_?" He could sense Jon looming. This wasn't something Jon could ever understand or forgive. "What do you mean '_we_?'"

"I mean… I mean James and I, and some other guys. The guy who died… it was the clerk." He felt himself shaking again.

"How?" Rocks would break against that tone. You could drill diamond with it.

"I… I shot him." It was so confusing, too bright and too noisy. Then there'd been a movement and another yell, and he panicked. And then…

"_You_…" Hatred dripped from the word.

Trip nodded. He hadn't let James carry the gun. He'd hoped to be able to mitigate the damage. He should have known. He should have known.

He could hear Jon breathing hard, trying to control himself. "You _murdered_ somebody, and you thought that it was just something to leave off your resume? Because I don't know how else to see this. How the _hell_ did you get into Starfleet?"

"It was a juvenile record. That was part of the deal. It got wiped at eighteen, and I wanted to start over." A new life on a new coast. A chance to become a decent person.

"You were a juvenile. And that makes it all better."

No, no it didn't. Nothing could make it all better. _But I'm not the same person anymore_. At least he hadn't thought he was. But now…

_'Say it.'_ James' voice echoed again. And he had. What James wanted, James got. _I haven't changed_. No, he was still the same scared little mouse in the corner. Watching the drooling cat and waiting for the claws. And just like a cat toyed with its prey before lunch, James played with his victims, drawing it out. _And I'm his favourite_. How had James felt when he saw who he'd run into? Overjoyed, probably. He probably hadn't had this much fun in a long time.

"So, essentially you haven't told the truth about anything, have you? Any other lies you care to confess to?"

Trip felt a couple of tears streak down his cheeks, but shook his head. How much else was needed? _I can't make things any worse._

"Get out of here." Trip knew the words left unsaid. _'You make me sick.'_ But that was understandable, because he was sickening even to himself.

He staggered from the room and made a break for the turbolift, forcing himself to get inside before collapsing onto his hands and knees. His stomach twisted and lurched and he threw up. It seemed to go on forever until there was nothing left. His ribs and throat hurt from the strain, but he didn't notice it under the rest of the pain.

_I hate you, James. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you._ Except this wasn't all James' fault. He wouldn't have been able to do anything if Trip hadn't given him a foundation to work with. It would have been _story-no story_ as Lizzie used to say, rather than a front cover exposé.

He took off his jacket and shirt and used them to clean up the mess as best he could. He couldn't do much about the smell. Maintenance would have to take care of that, the poor bastards.

He tried to ignore the stares as he got off, he might have only been half-dressed, but the stench would tell them anything they needed to know. Most of the ship had to know that he was passing out, so they had to know that he was sick. _You just don't know how much_. He wondered what they'd decide when they found out that Jon was no longer his friend. When James started up with his games on a larger scale, and they learned so much more about the man they thought they knew.

Once inside his quarters he threw out his clothes. There was no sense keeping them, and it wasn't like he'd be welcome to wear the uniform again. Then he staggered into bed as the headache behind his eyes threatened his vision. Maybe there were brain problems. Maybe he'd get lucky and just stroke out right here. He turned out the lights and tried to convince himself that nothing was real.

* * *

He woke, unable to breathe. There was a weight on his chest, and something over his face. He tried to fight back but his attacker was stronger, and he'd been starved too long of oxygen. He was going to die. 

Then the pillow came off and he gasped down a great gulp of air. "I'm… I'm telling."

"No, you're not. Nobody will believe you." James smiled. "What does it feel like? Dying?"

Trip shuddered and shook his head.

James put the pillow back and pressed down hard. Spots started to appear in front of Trip's eyes. Then the pillow was off again. "What's it feel like?"

"You're gonna kill me." He could barely talk.

"Maybe," James smiled. "I could. Do you want me to?"

Trip shook his head rapidly.

"No? Are you sure?"

Trip nodded.

James looked disappointed. "Okay. But remember that, brother."

* * *

He tried to scream, but he couldn't breathe. There was a weight on his chest, and something over his face. He tried to fight back but his attacker was stronger, and he'd been starved too long of oxygen. 

Then the pillow came off, and James smiled. "Just a reminder, brother. In case you were inclined to try something."

_I wasn't_.

"Nice piece of ass on that Vulcan girl." James spoke almost casually, but it would never be casual, never with James. "Lotta nice pieces of ass around here. You've got yourself pretty well set up, don't you?"

"Leave her alone," he knew he shouldn't say it. Now James had something else to leverage him with.

"I bet your captain's calling home to find out all about me." James cocked his head. "I think he needs some information, don't you?"

"No." No, he wasn't going to do this. He'd hurt Jon enough. He wasn't going to…

"I wonder if she could tell us apart?" James seemed to be contemplating. "They say Vulcans have interesting… talents. And there, uh, weren't a _lot_ who _could_ tell us apart…"

"If you…"

James' eyes glittered. "What? What are you going to do to me, brother?"

_Nothing._ There was nothing he was capable of doing, and James knew it. Nothing except…

"Don't worry, all I need is some access codes. I won't ask you to lie to your friend again."

"I can't give you those," Trip whispered. "I…"

James increased the pressure of his knee on Trip's chest. "I want them. I need them."

"No."

James brushed a gentle hand across Trip's forehead. "Don't make me keep asking for them. Just give me them, and everything's going to be okay. I want to have them. I want them." His voice became low, almost hypnotic. "Just tell the truth, you know how much you want to do that. I'm not going to hurt anybody. I don't want to have to hurt anybody." The hand cupped itself around Trip's throat. "It's all up to you, brother. Just a few simple codes and I go away."

_No._ They trained him not to give those up, even under threat of death. But deeper, older instincts surfaced. This wasn't some alien enemy, this was James. There was no _threat_ to his life… James _would_ kill him, it was no mere bluff. _I don't want to die_. Not at the hands of his brother. And he knew that James would never give up. _Just tell him and he'll go away._ Everything was fine if James wasn't there. He could breathe. He could think. And it was one thing to _tell_ you not to give away information, but procedures like that were never created by people who'd stared into the eyes of someone who'd kill you slowly and enjoy every minute of it. Somebody for whom the main objective _wasn't_ the information itself, it was the production of terror. James could adapt, he could work without the information, but this was more entertaining.

_I can't_. He tried to remember the Starfleet training, but it was no good. Childhood training was stronger. He whispered the codes, knowing he should lie, but knowing that a lie would only make things worse. _"There are spiders down there, brother. Big black spiders that'll crawl all over you. They'll get inside your ears, and under your clothes, and maybe in your mouth."_ Years disappeared: he was just a boy, terrified of the dark and what might be in it. _Believing_ in the spiders, because he didn't dare look, for fear they might be real. Imagining them, like big, fat drops of blood.

No wonder the tests at Starfleet had been so easy. They'd been designed by decent people who could never fully imagine what an indecent person could devise. And the testers had been limited in their approach. They hadn't actually been allowed to inflict torture and make the test-takers truly convinced that they were going to die. _Nothing_ they could arrange could match the sheer emotional terror of staring into a set of calm, but fully familiar eyes as you struggled to breathe, knowing that it was futile, and that your seconds were limited. Knowing that there could be no perverse victory in dying, because your enemy would be happy either way, and that no justice would be done. No, the psychologists and strategists and other assorted rule-makers didn't have a clue.

James smiled approvingly. His gentle fingers brushed the sweaty hair away from Trip's brow, then he tenderly tucked the pillow back under his brother's head. "See? That wasn't so hard at all. I knew I could still rely on you, brother. We're family."

Trip nodded. Yes, they were. That was what was so scary.

"And we'll always stick together. Because family is important, isn't it?"

He nodded again, too terrified to do anything else.

James sat back. "You know, I've really missed you, brother. All those years of being alone… and knowing that you abandoned me. How could you do that?"

_How could…_ It was the only solution, the only way to survive.

"You were my big brother. You were supposed to look after me. I was just a kid."

_No._ In years only. Even when shorter, James had never been a kid. He'd never had a kid's interests. 'Bright,' people called him. 'Precocious.' But neither one was right. Oh, he was smart, there was no denying that. He knew all the ways to lie almost before he'd learned how to talk. He'd figured out quickly that he had an automatic scapegoat in most affairs and sacrificed it mercilessly.

"But I forgive you. You're my brother. You're my family, so I can forgive things like that." James sighed. "I just wish you could see that."

Trip lay still, as James got up and wandered over to the closet. He selected a uniform and put it on.

"Don't worry, I'll return it, nice and safe. No one will ever know."

That was the problem. No one ever did. If James were caught, it would be Trip whom Jon would blame. And wouldn't that be perfect? Another transgression on the record, another wedge driven between them, forcing them apart.

But even after James left, he didn't move, didn't call, didn't give warning. He didn't dare.


	3. Stories and Lies

**Disclaimer:** I own neither _Enterprise_, nor its characters. This is for entertainment purposes only.

**Author's note**: I'm not sure quite what it is, but this one has got to me. It's coming out from under my fingers of its own free will. Sometimes I wish it would let me sleep.

Thanks as always to my great betas: silvershadowfire, gaianarchy and kate98.

**Chapter Two: Stories and Lies**

_You just wouldn't understand it._ That was the only reason he was doing this. People heard things, they read things, and they overreacted. And this Captain Archer seemed a bit like the overreacting type. So…

_Now how would Big-Brother react?_ Not well: Jimmy had smelled the vomit on his breath. He'd be nervous, almost guilty. Jimmy pulled himself in and started to walk faster, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor in front of him. He refused to meet anybody's eye, but otherwise kept his expression relatively blank. _Gotta look like you're trying to keep control._ After all, some of these people would have known Trip for years and it would take more than a face and a uniform to fool them. But these were Trip's codes he was using, and Trip would be in _real_ trouble if Jimmy were caught with them. They'd probably give him the death penalty for treason or something. _And me too, just for spite._ Of course, that was _if_ Big-Brother didn't weasel out of things like he did last time. What kind of justice let a fourteen-year-old be tried and sentenced as an adult while his sixteen-year-old-brother got the kid-glove treatment as a juvenile? Not that he could _completely_ blame Big-Brother... he'd gotten a decent lawyer, and Jimmy's hadn't been worth crap. Of course, they wouldn't have _needed_ lawyers if Trip could have kept his mouth shut. Then again, he never was the one with all the brains.

Which was, of course, why Jimmy felt sorry for him. It must have been hard, knowing that even though you were the first, your brother was better than you. And all those nervous troubles, too. It was amazing that Big-Brother made it as far as he did in Starfleet anyway. From what Jimmy had heard, Trip made Commander before he was thirty, which was apparently damn near amazing. _I wouldn'ta thought you'd have the backbone for it._

He found a console and started entering the codes to access the system. There _had_ been an upside about the whole prison thing, when you considered that it bought a free-ride education. Computer Tech had seemed about right, since most everything ran on computer these days. Most systems were basically the same once you understood the underlying framework. _Universality_. You had to love the global culture where everything had to match everything else. Funny how Trip had become an engineer, but he'd always been the building type. Always fooling around with some gadget or another. He was a plans guy, too, even if he didn't have the vision to come up with the grand idea.

"What's going on?" Jimmy heard a voice behind him. It was that British guy from Security.

"Nothin'." Best to keep it short and sweet. They could catch you out on details, and he didn't have enough on Trip's current life to go into them. Fortunately, Big-Brother would probably be in a pretty bad mood, and not inclined to talk.

"Word is you refused medical treatment, and the captain has pulled you off duty."

Jimmy shrugged. When Trip got moody, he got defensive; that much probably hadn't changed.

"So what is it?" This guy didn't seem inclined to give up. _Nosy_.

Jimmy leaned both arms on the terminal and fixed the guy with a pair of glittering eyes. The guy was smart; he got the message right away and scrammed.

_Now where was I?_ He had to find that report and fix it before Archer saw it. He wasn't going back in, even if they got God and six cops to try and make him. The only people who thought that people belonged in prison were the ones who'd never been there.

_Like it couldn't happen to anybody_. All you needed was a bad lawyer and a brother with a big mouth and no brain to support it.

Fortunately, it didn't look like the report had been sorted and forwarded yet: it still resided in the queue, despite the fact that it was labelled urgent. Apparently, there were a lot of urgent things, and a little report from the State of Florida wasn't as urgent as the rest of them.

_Lucky for me_. He pulled it up, and made a few quick edits, including one to its urgency. After all, there'd be nothing urgent about tracking down a guy who'd been paroled and was now considered an upstanding citizen. It wasn't completely a lie; comparatively, he'd done more than his share of time. _'Specially since I didn't kill anybody._ Funny how someone could get away with murder, and they wanted to lock Jimmy up forever for something far less than that.

He finished up and headed back to Trip's quarters. He _had_ promised to return the uniform, after all, and it didn't quite fit right. From the looks and feel of things, Big-Brother was starting to get out of shape. _Guess bein' the boss means you get to take it easy_. Jimmy'd never take it easy. You relaxed and you got soft, and if you got soft, somebody else would get you.

But that was Trip, too. Always crying about something or the other. Like when the goldfish died. Mom and Dad even tried to tell him that it was Nature, that goldfish did that sort of thing, but Trip had been miserable for days. And he couldn't even kill a snake, so it was pretty amazing that he'd actually gone and killed a person.

Then again, maybe all those psychologists were right when they said that movies could make a person do funny things. After all, you just had to look at what Trip watched. All those monster movies with all their gruesome deaths, and he'd had glow-in-the-dark zombie pictures, too. Not that Mom ever let him hang them – after all, he and Trip shared a room. _And I didn't need to look at that all night_. But Trip had found a solution, attaching them to the bottom of James' bunk. Then he could look up and see them, and James didn't have to. _But I knew they were there_.

And the way Trip talked sometimes… it was like every third word out of his mouth was a curse. God knew Jimmy didn't talk like that, or their parents, either. No… all you had to do was listen to know that Big-Brother had his share of problems. Not that he needed to be in prison, but Starfleet probably wasn't right for him either.

He was so lost in thought that he nearly bumped into someone going the other way. She looked at him oddly, as though studying him. _She_ didn't belong in Starfleet either, based on looks: hair sticking out all over the place, and in every colour but a natural one for hair. Her eyes narrowed speculatively, but she said nothing.

"Lieutenant." That was a pretty safe bet given the insignia.

She nodded once but said nothing. It seemed almost like a challenge.

Rather than respond, he stepped around her and headed quickly to return the uniform. He couldn't keep up the act for long, not until he knew more about these people, whom Trip would probably know pretty well. He sensed her staring after him, but decided to ignore it. She probably had a crush on Big-Brother or something. Not that he'd ever return it – if there was one thing Jimmy'd give Trip credit for, it was taste in women. That chick looked like she'd escaped from an asylum or something. _Weird._

He slipped into the room. Big-Brother still hadn't moved. "All taken care of. Nothing to worry about." Jimmy smiled. "I really appreciate this, brother."

Trip said nothing, just stared at him with that pit-lamped deer look.

"Hey, it went perfect. Nobody's gonna suspect a thing. Did you think I wanted to get you in more trouble? This is about _saving_ trouble." Jimmy stripped off the uniform and changed back into his own clothing. He folded Trip's uniform neatly and put it in the hamper. Then he headed out, pausing at the door. "You're my brother. Why would I hurt you?" He smiled, and left, the question unanswered.

(dds)

_Because you can._ Trip felt himself beginning to shake again. He was cold, freezing. James didn't know everything. What if someone _did_ suspect? He felt himself start to cry, helpless and hating it. James was going to destroy everything. _Just let me die._ Why hadn't he just said nothing? Then maybe James would have killed him, and they'd figure it out, right? And then they'd lock him up, and the only victim would be Trip himself.

A soft knock sounded on the door. He said nothing, just waited until the doorbell rang, and didn't respond to it either. There was a pause, then the door hissed open.

"Go away." It wasn't James back again, because James wouldn't have knocked.

A wry voice answered him and Hess stepped in, completely ignoring his request. "If you didn't want me opening locks, you should never have taught me to do it in the first place."

"Go. It's an order." Even she couldn't stand by him through this. This was even worse than hurting Jon. Jon might have been a friend, but Hess damn near worshiped her commanding officer. And she was such a sweet kid. Better to cut her off now than to let her get sucked in any more than she was.

"You've been pulled off duty. I don't have to listen to you anymore." Instead she came over and perched herself on the foot of his bed. She tugged on one of her bangs, as though examining it. "So, what's the story with you and this brother?"

"My brother?"

"No, mine. Apparently you promised to marry him." She punched him lightly on the foot. "Of course yours, dumbass. He's not exactly what you seem to have led people to believe."

"I haven't said anything." Other than the fact that he _had_ a brother, he hadn't. _I didn't want anybody to know_.

"That's why I said _seem_. I, of course, know better." She said it loftily, but probably meant every word. If James was bright… well, Hess was a genius in any light.  
"James is my little brother." What else could he say? After all, what had James said to her?

"Which makes it weird." She fixed him with one of her stares, the kind she'd perfected in contests with her cat. "I mean, he's got you pretty fucked up, doesn't he?"

Trip blinked. He should have expected it, really. Hess didn't skate around topics that she thought were better attacked head on. "What makes you say that?"

"Um… let's see. You've passed out _twice_ since he's got here, something that's never occurred since I met you. Except for that… okay, a few times, but you've usually been drunk."

Trip smiled. He couldn't help it. Something about Hess always made him laugh. Part of it was the way she saw everything in an incredibly absurd light.

She smiled back. "_And_ there's the fact that the captain yanked you off duty, after which you apparently revisited lunch. Now, given that he's let you work during episodes of near-fatal exhaustion, something tells me that it took more than a faint or two to make him do it this time. So, what's the story?"

"You don't want to know." The smile disappeared. No, she definitely didn't want to know this story.

"If you're in trouble, then yes, I do." The levity vanished from her voice. He stared at her, realising that she was dead serious.

"Hess…"

"In addition to being your second-in-command, I'm the only lawyer around here, and I've represented you for years. Anything you've done, I've got to know about."

"Yeah, well, I'm firing you." A lawyer wouldn't get him out of this mess… he shouldn't have gotten out of the first one. _People would've been better off if I'd just stayed in jail_.

"I'm going to take that as a statement formed in a fragile state of mind. In other words, go to hell." She didn't budge, just stared him down.

"James and I robbed a liquor store, and I shot somebody. He died." If she wanted the truth, he would give it to her.

"And?"

He sat up. "What do you mean '_and_?' What kind of an 'and' do you need? I killed somebody."

"And why is this supposed to shock me?" She spread her hands, palms upward. "Now, I can't help feeling that there's a lot more that you're not telling me."

"Like…"

"Oh, like why someone like you would decide to rob a liquor store in the first place. I'm pretty sure that your motives were a lot more complicated than 'I wanted the money.'"

_His_ motives, yes. But still… "And what makes you so sure about that?"

She smirked. "Except when it comes to women, your motivations tend to be pretty convoluted."

"You're saying I'm simple when it comes to women." He probably shouldn't be joking like this, but it felt good not to have someone loathing him, even if it was only going to be temporary.

"You just did, I didn't." The smirk changed into a grin though – obviously, he'd done something right.

"I thought… I thought that maybe if I was there, it wouldn't be so bad." He shook his head. Even Hess wouldn't believe this story. Trip was the _older_ brother; he was supposed to be the one in control. James shouldn't have been able to boss him around the way he did. And it was a bullshit story, anyway. Who _cared_ what he'd been thinking? They committed a crime and somebody died. Enough said, close the book and move on to something else.

She raised an eyebrow but said nothing, clearly expecting him to continue.

"Hess, I…" She didn't need this. She was a sweet kid and she didn't need all this crap coming down on her head.

"Sir, please. For me."

Trip sighed. Right there was another reason he shouldn't do this. Despite their friendship, he was and had always been her commanding officer, as long as she'd been in Starfleet… as long as he'd known her. She'd never _once_ called him by his first name, or even his nickname. _Well, at least not my usual nickname_. At the same time, he did owe her something for all those drunken nights where he'd crashed on her couch – including a three-month stretch where he'd actually lived there – and all the leeway she'd given for things said before he managed to crash.

"You've got to know me and James. Even when he was little, he was different. And I don't just mean a little strange…" He stopped again. He couldn't tell this story. She wouldn't believe. Nobody believed. Oh, she might believe for a minute, but then she'd meet James and she'd wonder where Trip came up with these things.

"Scary." She summed it up in one word, somehow reading his thoughts or memories even.

Trip nodded. "Yeah. Scary. You know how snakes are cold-blooded, right? How they can't adapt to temperature changes?"

Hess nodded.

"One day, one summer, he caught one, and he took it up on top of our roof. It must have been around thirty-five, forty degrees Celsius that day, and he trapped it in one spot where the sun would be on it for hours. Now, the roof was reflecting all that heat, and he just sat there and watched it. It was like he wasn't bothered by the heat at all, but the snake," Trip shuddered, "the snake couldn't get away, and it just cooked alive. He told me all about it. He said he wondered if you could do that to a person, too. He was eight years old, Hess." Trip took a deep breath. "That's when he really started up. He used to try to kill me at night… I am not making this up."

She said nothing, just watched him.

"He used to put a pillow over my face and hold it down. He'd wait until I fell asleep, so he had more time. And… and I used to try to stay awake, but I couldn't always. Sometimes I was just so exhausted…" He'd fall asleep anyway, and James would grab his opportunity. "He used to tell me that he had complete control of whether I lived or died. And he used to… We had this really old basement, and it was full of junk and crap and it never got cleaned out. He used to trap me in there and turn out the light… you couldn't turn it on from the basement side because the switch was broken. He'd tell me about all these spiders that were down there. I'm scared – I've always been scared – of spiders. And he'd tell me how they'd bite me and suck out my blood…"

"And when you're a kid, you believe it. It's real." Hess' face was unreadable.

"And our babysitter never noticed. She was always too busy with her boyfriend or something. The one time Mom and Dad caught him at it, he said I got stuck in there accidentally, that I'd done it to myself. They believed him. I got the spanking of my life when I tried to tell them the truth. Then later, the panic attacks started."

"When you started passing out."

Trip nodded. "I mean, I didn't dare say anything, but James was getting worse and worse."

"And you care." Hess' statement was almost too cryptic to make sense. Trip wrinkled his brow, and she elaborated. "Like me. Or are you forgetting who ran through three lanes of traffic just to get me a kitten."

Trip snorted softly. "It was only two. And I knew that sooner or later he was going to get killed."

"Exactly. _And_ you kept holding onto him when he sunk his teeth into your hand, and I _know_ that hurts. You look at all those people who kept driving by who swore at you when you slowed them down… or the way that date of yours got so pissed at you for doing that. I hate to break it to you, pal, but you're a sensitive kind of guy." She grinned. "I mean, you were on antibiotics for a _week_ after that, and you kept asking how he was doing." The grin disappeared and she became serious again. "For someone like you, even living with the _knowledge_ of someone like James must have been excruciating."

Trip nodded. "So, when he told me he was going to do it… the robbery, I mean, I knew that it was going to happen. I mean, whether I was there or not, but he wanted me there… and I… I…"

"My God, Trip, you were _brainwashed_. I don't see how _anybody_ could expect you to think rationally in a situation like that."

"I wasn't brainwashed. I could still think." And he should have said 'No.' He should have told James to go to hell, and called the cops. Except… _they wouldn't have believed me. And James probably _would_ have cancelled the thing, just to make me seem crazier._ Which still would have been better than what happened.

"Not rationally, not clearly. You'd been systematically tortured for _years_. You were running in pure survival mode, convinced that your life was in the hands of your brother. It would have taken a miracle for you to defy him."

No, only an innocent death – hardly a miracle. He blinked, and a couple of tears escaped. "Someone… someone _died_, Hess. I… I shot him." He started to cry harder now, the pain of decades boiling to the surface and spilling over. "I… I _killed_ somebody, and I only went to jail for a couple of years for that…"

"You shouldn't have gone at all," Hess snapped.

"I know. I should have told him I wasn't going to do it and…"

"No." The hard edge in Hess' voice cut through. "I mean you shouldn't have gone to _jail_ at all. That's called _duress_, and legally it _is_ a defence for what you did."

"Legally." Not morally though.

"I'm sorry, pal, but that's what I function on. And did you walk in there with a _plan_ to shoot him?"

Trip narrowed his eyes. "No, but _legally_, that doesn't matter. I killed someone in the commission of a crime, which makes it 'felony murder.'"

"Which makes your brother and the others just as culpable as you – _more _culpable, in that they participated under their own free will, whereas you were coerced. One little foray into the justice system doesn't make you a lawyer, pal."

"Like you've ever tried a case," Trip muttered.

"No… but I do have the _degree_, which means I actually am allowed to _practice_ in the field. _And_ I know some of the little details that you may not." She sighed. "I can't even _imagine_ how terrified you must have been." She studied him. "In fact… I'll lay one-to-one odds that the reason the cops cracked the case is that you turned yourself in."

"How…" How could she know that? There could have been a _million_ ways that it might have been solved.

"Because I know you. You couldn't hold on to something like that, not when you knew that a family was suffering. You must have been in so much pain… that's what broke the conditioning, isn't it?"

He nodded and started crying again. "I knew… I thought it was the right thing. I thought… I thought that maybe now, someone might believe me." But because of his age, they wouldn't even _listen_ to him until he had a lawyer. Eventually, the lawyer ended up saying a lot of the things that Hess was saying right now. "In exchange for my testimony, I was… I was sentenced as a juvenile. So, the record was wiped and I… I moved on. And I… I tried so hard not to think about it. I just wanted to be a better person."

"And look at you. You're a commander in Starfleet, you're chief engineer of the flagship of the fleet…" She patted his foot, "You've got _great_ taste in friends…"

He sniffled. "Like any of them are going to want to _be_ my friend now." Jon… he didn't want to think about Jon. God, he'd betrayed him.

"Well, _I_ am. And you might want to have a little faith in everybody else. Maybe _some_ people won't stick with you, but those of us who really know you will."

"But that's just _it_. Nobody _does_ know me." If they did, they wouldn't have gotten involved in the first place. But he'd lied and charmed his way in, and now they were going to suffer for having the sympathy to fall for the con.

"Nobody knows the person you _were_. We all know the person you _are_. You've done _so_ much for everybody around here. And it's _real_ stuff, too. Remember… remember when Travis' father died, and you gave him that photo-album? Most people wouldn't have thought of something like that, but sometimes we need those small gestures of kindness. And you're so good at them, and it's _not_ fake."

"You don't know that." After all, if everything else was, why not that?

"Honey, don't do this to yourself. You _are_ a decent person. We've all done things in our lives that we're not very proud of. I'll bet… I'll bet there are things that Captain Archer hasn't told you about his life. Does that make _him_ a bad person?"

"I don't think Jon was a petty criminal." Not that you could call murder petty, but it wasn't even for a decent _reason_. It wasn't like they were saving the world, they were simply out to steal and terrorise.

"But that's the point. You don't know. You don't even know everything about me."

"But at least I've met your family. I _know_ you weren't making a lot of that stuff up." Not that anyone _could_ make up a family like Hess'. When it came to things like that, reality trumped fantasy every time.

"I once hacked into government intelligence files. And I didn't even have a good reason. I could've put a ton of people's lives at risk."

"Hess…"

"I _knew_ it was wrong, and I did it anyway. So you're not perfect. You're not even close. But you're not the devil, either. You're a human being who has been through more than most human beings ever imagine. And you were just a kid when it happened to you; you didn't have the critical skills to assess what was going on. Even _adults_ can't deal with that. Starfleet likes to pretend so – that's why they gave us all that bullshit training in resistance… but if a person's really determined to get you, they will get you."

"You just don't give up, do you?" Hess kept saying that she had no maternal instincts, but the only person she fooled was herself. As soon as she saw someone who was hurt, she'd mother them whether they wanted it or not.

"No." Short, simple and to the point.

He sighed. "Okay. You can still be my friend. Why you want to, I don't know, but I don't think I'm going to be able to stop you."

"Well, there's no call to be so miserable about it. You should count yourself privileged to have a friend like me."

"I do." _Believe me, I do_. Privileged wasn't the word for it. There probably _wasn't_ a word for it. Hess was simply the best thing that had ever happened to him.

"Hey. Don't make me put you in the shower." She shook a finger at him.

"What?" He tried to look innocent, knowing precisely what she meant.

"I know that look. That's the look that comes five seconds before 'Hess, will you marry me?' You're just usually more than a little drunk and broken-hearted when you say it. Which means that I have to sober you up and make you take it back."

He started to laugh. _God, I love you, girl._ "What can I say? You're wonderful."

"You're _non-compos mentis_. I'm not merely full, I'm over_flowing_ with wondrous things. Which is why you love me." She paused. "Way too much to ever marry me."

He changed position, reaching over to hug her. "You are the greatest person in the world, you know that?"

"Yes… but then I _am_ also a genius. I know most things."

He changed the hug into a headlock. "Why is it I lost the _nice_ little sister, and got to keep the annoying one?"

"You're too ugly to be my brother," Hess countered. "If they looked like you, I wouldn't have my inferiority complex."

_Yeah, right_. People never understood him and Hess. Even he didn't understand it sometimes, except that there was something about her that pulled him out of his misery, no matter how deep he'd fallen. He might go under again, but at least he'd be up long enough to catch his breath, and not just keep sinking. She was ridiculous, and caring, and loyal to a fault. Past the point of a fault, really. Suddenly he felt a rush of pity for his little brother. James had no idea what he was messing with now. "Just don't do anything to him, okay?" Hess would kill James if Trip even hinted that was what he wanted. _I wish he was dead sometimes, but I don't want you to do it._ Dead… dead would just be easier for all concerned.

"Not unless he does something first," she promised.

"Okay." He had to give her that much. She was probably the last person on this ship who would fall for James' games, especially now. As such, James would see her as a threat. James didn't deal well with threats; he tended to eliminate them. He couldn't deny her the right to defend herself, but he prayed it wouldn't come to that. "Just don't provoke him." On the other hand, sometimes Hess needed explicit instructions.

"Awww… you're no fun." She tickled his ribs until he squirmed away.

"I don't want you getting in trouble. Not for me."

"Why not?" She contrived to look innocent, which was just plain funny if you knew her. "I do it all the time."

"You mean _I_ get in trouble for _you_." At least when he got in trouble for her, it was fun. And she'd never hesitate to bail him out if things got too intense.

He glanced over at his clock. "Aren't you on-shift?"

She shrugged. "I'll just call it my break. If there was a problem, they could page me."

"Hess…" If anything would get her in trouble, it would be neglecting her duties to come talk to him. Until now, his friendship with Jon had been the only reason Jon tolerated her. The way things stood… _Jon wouldn't hesitate to cut you loose_.

"You need me more than that stupid engine does." This time she hugged him. "And I need you. You're my best friend in the world – even outside of it. And I'm not going to let some judgemental ass tell me that I'm not allowed to talk to you."

"That 'judgemental ass' is your captain, Hess. He actually _does_ get to tell you things like that, especially while you're on duty." And Trip wasn't going to let her ruin her life over something so minor as timing. "And you gotta admit, this is a bit of a shock."

"He's _supposed_ to be your friend." As though friendship was something stronger than life itself, though from her point-of-view it probably was.

"Hess, honey, there's a lot more to it than that. Yes, he was my friend, but he's just found out that I'm not the person he thought he knew."

"Yes, you are. You had all those things in your past before… I mean, how were you supposed to bring it up? 'Oh, yeah, by the way, I've spent time in jail for murder.'" She sneered. "That's the whole point of expunging the record. So you _don't_ have to live your adult life with that hanging over your head."

"Not everybody agrees with that point-of-view." Did he? It _was_, in it's own way, a lie. It let you claim that you were a decent person, when in reality, you weren't.

"Yeah, well, he's done worse than that." She sounded almost like she wanted to cry, and he couldn't imagine why. "And no one has a problem with _him_ staying on as captain and making the same decisions."

_You're frustrated_, he realised. Because she knew Jon's attitude hurt, and there was nothing she could do about it. "It's just…" He wasn't sure how to explain it so she could understand. "Jon's got this thing about responsibility. And… and from what he can see, I haven't had to deal with any consequences at all. Like you said, commander in Starfleet, chief engineer of the flagship…" though probably not for much longer, "… it's like I've led a charmed life. I've had nothing but good things happen to me when I should probably still be locked…"

"Bullshit!" she interrupted. "You do _not_ deserve to be locked up – not morally, not legally. You were not the one making the decisions; it wasn't even a case of 'just following orders.' You had no say in that situation whatsoever."

"I coulda…"

"You're looking at it from _now_. Now, when the pressure's off. Now, when he's not in the room with you, and you've got space to breathe." Her voice grew bitter. "I'll bet there wasn't a lot of resistance when he decided to borrow your uniform."

"What?" He tried to bluff his way through it, but if she said it, then she probably knew. _How, I don't know_. Unless James tried something, and she caught it. Hess didn't miss much.

"I ran into him into the hallway probably about ten minutes before I came here. And don't tell me it wasn't him, because I am _not_ a hard to recognise person. I'm pretty sure that you could have come up with my name."

_Busted already_. That was unusual for James, but the only way it probably happened was that he _had_ run into Hess. If the rest of the world didn't understand their relationship, then why should James? James had no concept of friends. People were there to be used or to amuse yourself. The thought of Hess and Trip was probably too foreign even to occur to him. "Don't tell anyone, okay? I mean… No… you should tell… but…" He felt himself start to hyperventilate. This was all going bad. This was…

Hess jumped up and ran to his closet, stripping the protective covering from one of his uniforms. She folded the edges to form a makeshift bag. "Breathe into this."

He did as she instructed, the lack of available oxygen slowing down his breathing and clearing his mind. Finally, he felt steady enough to speak. "Thanks."

"No problem. I used to do that all the time, whenever I had a figure-skating competition."

He pulled back and blinked. "You were a _figure-skater_?"

She nodded, her lips twisting into a grimace. "Yeah. See? Something else I never told you. I was good at it, too." She sounded almost disgusted.

"But… but… there's nothing _wrong_ with that."

"I was a _figure-skater_," she protested. "That's _all_ wrong. It's so stereotypical. Cute little blond girl, and all that jazz." The grimace turned to a pout. "I wanted to play hockey. I wanted to _beat-up_ on boys, not have them trying to look up my skirt."

"Hess…"

"I was fourteen years old, and a little stunted emotionally. I mean, I already _knew_ what boys were interested in… I eavesdropped on my brothers a lot. And some of it sounded pretty gross."

He started laughing again, and this time he couldn't stop. He could just imagine her in a skating outfit, with her hair neatly tied back and a scowl on her face, decking the first boy who tried to say something to her, probably with her skates. He fell backwards onto the bed, gasping. "Oh God, Hess. I can just imagine the torture the poor guy who first asked you for a date went through. Seeing you in those cute little outfits and wanting to ask you out but knowing that he could probably get killed… I feel sorry for him."

"Well… I'll admit, the sparklies were okay. Figure-skaters _do_ get to wear more sparklies than hockey players… but everything else about it is just so _wrong_."

"You're not a squirrel, you're a magpie," he teased. Why could nobody else see this in her? How come they all had to assume that she was anti-social and maladjusted and not see the _good_ parts of her? _I wish I'd had a friend like you, growing up._ He could have used that, could have used someone who made him laugh and chased away the monsters and the ghosts.

"Intelligent and territorial. Yeah, I'll admit, that works." She glared at him. "But if you tell anybody… _anybody_ that I was a figure-skater, I'll kill you."

"Not even Malcolm?" Now there was a guy who'd been through torture at the hands of Hess. Not that he didn't get her back occasionally, but sometimes he could use the help.

"_Especially_ not Malcolm." Now she looked mortified. "Malcolm is the _last_ person that needs to know about that."

He raised his hand in a mock Boy-Scout salute. "I swear. I will tell no one." She still wanted to beat up on the boys, more out of defensiveness than anything. _You can't admit that you're attracted to him, can you, girl?_ For one thing, Malcolm was the stable, repressed type, and the last thing anyone could _ever_ call Hess was 'repressed.' _Not to your face, anyway_. But she was, Trip realised. _She_ just repressed all the 'little girlishness' about her. It came out in odd ways, like her fondness for 'sparklies' or when she got sick. In some ways, she'd never gotten to _be_ a little girl, so she'd never had a chance to grow out of it. She'd graduated high-school at twelve, and her youngest brother was eight years older than her.

Not to mention her track record with relationships – it was probably worse than his. _At least none of mine tried to emotionally abuse me_. Some of the shit that Hess had put up with, it was no wonder that she found the idea of a stable relationship scary. From what he understood, her parents were still married, but all of her brothers had been divorced at least once or twice. Long-term involvement with someone who might care back – that was new territory for her. _He_ was the closest she'd come to obtaining it – a best friend where there didn't need to be benefits. A different kind of love… _but it's love all the same_. Suddenly, some of his own behaviour made sense. _I really _should_ marry you_. They'd probably never make it legal – they were far too platonic for that – but _emotionally… You really _are_ the only person who's truly understood me_. And he had to admit, the closest he'd come to willingly killing somebody in his new life had been when he _was_ living with her and her loser ex-boyfriend came back. Even his encounter with Degra hadn't been that much on the borderline. _I never pointed a weapon at _him.

"You're getting that look again," she warned. "The shower's right over there, and I'm not afraid to use it."

"Yes, Mommy." It was okay to call her that, because he'd never used that term for his own mother, at least not that he could remember.

"Oh God, you _have_ got an Oedipal complex. Let me guess: your mother had a chest like Corporal Cole's and was as emotionally available as T'Pol."

"Shut up. Now you're getting disgusting." Right, maybe, but still disgusting. "And you're a lawyer, not a psychiatrist. You're not allowed to make claims like that."

"Well… I _considered_ a medical degree, but I realised I'd probably _enjoy_ cutting up cadavers, which is probably more than a little disturbing."

His face darkened, but he forced it away. She didn't need any more, not right now. What she _needed_ to do was get back on shift, which she wouldn't do unless she thought he was okay.

"Hey… um… speaking of showers, I could probably use one." He smiled. "I'll be fine. Really."

"Okay. But call me later, okay?" She fixed him with a look that said he'd better call. "In the meantime, I'll try and keep your engines from missing you too much. They get lonely without their Daddy."

He laughed and pushed her towards the door. At the same time, she was right about one thing. The engines _were_ like his children, and as close as he was likely to come ever to having any. _Which might be a good thing_. After all, if these genes could produce something like James, would it be worth the risk?

(dds)

_This is almost too easy._ Jimmy smiled as another one of Trip's friends came up to say hello. It seemed they _all_ wanted a chance to get to know the brother they'd never heard anything about. Especially since he looked so much like Trip.

Then he caught sight of her again. She wasn't hard to miss. _This could be interesting_. After all, she _was_ in love with Big-Brother, wasn't she? And he'd never have anything to do with something like her. Would she, he wondered, accept a surrogate?

He smiled, and she responded with a scowl that could have melted steel. She shook, like she was restraining herself from doing something she desperately wanted to do.

"Excuse me," Malcolm Reed, who'd finally got around to introducing himself, followed Jimmy's gaze and got up from the table. He walked over to the girl and said something to her, and she snapped a few words back. Reed wrinkled his brow and asked another question, and this time Jimmy focussed on her lips, and the answer came through loud and clear.

"He's just damn lucky I don't kill him." He caught hints of a high, sweet voice and a Georgia accent.

Reed rolled his eyes and said something else, and she responded by poking him in the chest and shaking her head before she stormed off. Reed looked back at Jimmy with an odd expression, then left to follow her.

_Whoa_. Clearly he'd misjudged something there. He could have _sworn_ that girl had a crush on Trip, and she _definitely_ wasn't his type. And it looked like there was a little something there between her and that Reed guy, too. Enough that Reed had known to head over to talk to her, and that she wasn't afraid of whacking him. He'd have to get more info, but fortunately, he had some great sources right here. "What was _that_ all about?" He turned back to the two people left at the table, Travis Mayweather and Hoshi Sato. Now _she_ was more Big-Brother's type – classically pretty, and not freakish.

"Beats me," Mayweather shrugged. "Then again, most things about Lieutenant Hess do. She's known your brother longer than anyone else around here, and she's pretty protective of him." Mayweather grinned. "She's probably confused by you, and that's not something she's used to dealing with. And if she thinks you've got anything to do with what's been happening with him lately…"

"I might," Jimmy admitted. "I mean, my just being here might be a reminder of when he used to have those attacks… from what everybody says, they only started when you got my mayday."

Sato nodded. "I've never seen anything like it before. I mean, he wasn't freaked out when we were in a ship full of cadavers with the bodily fluids being sucked out of them, but one word from you, and he just… _dropped_." She shuddered, whether at the memory of the corpses or of Trip's faint, he wasn't sure.

"Yeah, that sounds like my brother. He was always obsessed with horror movies and such." Jimmy softened his voice. "Sometimes it was hard to tell if he saw a difference between them and real life. I mean, he was _obsessed_ with the idea of zombies… and after he saw that one, _Frankenstein_, well, he went up on the roof for five nights straight, waiting for lightning. In Florida, that's not always a good idea, because you might get it. But the funniest things could set him off. Once, it was just scrambled eggs for breakfast." And then he'd tried to claim that Jimmy had spent the night describing what your brains would look like if they were smashed out of your head, and the eggs looked like that. Mom and Dad hadn't believed him though. They'd just looked at each other and told Trip not to be so ridiculous and melodramatic. As for the lightning episode… it got even scarier when you realised that he took that dead cat with him every time.

"Wow." Mayweather stared at Jimmy like he'd been hypnotised. "Just something like that, huh? I wondered why he'd never eat them…" he frowned, "… well, it seems to depend on how they've been done."

_Really?_ That was interesting too. He was learning so much about Big-Brother during this. "And what's the thing between Lieutenant Hess and Lieutenant Reed?"

Sato and Mayweather exchanged looks and grinned. "Well," Sato said, "I think they're both interested in each other, but neither one can admit it. And they're both pretty good friends of your brother's. Next to Archer and Hess, I'd say Malcolm is the best friend your brother has here."

_Again, not what I expected_. Big-Brother had never been good at making friends, and now he had a whole shipfull. Admittedly the bulk of them seemed to be freaks and geeks, but even _they_ hadn't spent a lot of time with Trip when he was younger. Any friends Trip claimed to have were _Jimmy's_ friends, really.

As for these ones… didn't they deserve to know the truth?

(dds)

Trip felt like his skin was going to come off, and it had nothing to do with needing a shower. _What is he doing?_ After all, there weren't a lot of people around here like Hess. Most of them probably _would_ believe the stories James would tell; James was good with a story. _And since I never told them anything…_ they had nothing to compare the stories too, nothing against which to check the facts. Knowing James, he _would_ stick to facts. _I'm not the only one who likes to lie by omission._ The problem was that James was so convincing, that nobody bothered to dig further.

He didn't need to stay here, he'd been removed from duty, not confined to his quarters. But out there… everybody would be staring. Whether it was the novelty of having two identical looking people walking around at the same time, or whether they'd heard something – it didn't matter. They'd still be staring, still be watching. No, he didn't want to be out there. Maybe…

_Maybe if Jon was still my friend…_but there was that to contend with too. Just _knowing_ how much Jon hated him right now was enough to keep him in here. _I can't risk running into him. I can't deal with that_. That was his problem, though, wasn't it? He couldn't deal. He'd never been _able_ to deal. He hadn't dealt with James, he hadn't dealt at _all_ when Lizzie died… _Not unless you call endless sleepless nights and obsessively working yourself to pieces 'dealing.'_ And when T'Pol stepped in to help, he made the colossal mistake of falling in love with her. Except it probably wasn't love, it was probably more along the lines of dependence. Hadn't he said it himself? That he hadn't figured it out until he knew he was going to lose her? Wasn't that one of the signs of addiction?

She _wouldn't_ be there for him with this. Not with her newfound interest in Vulcan conservatism and the way logic laid a solid line between right and wrong. Between Jon's contempt and hers… and how would Malcolm react? He wasn't willing to chance it either way with Malcolm. Nope, all he had was one guardian angel who you couldn't beat off with a stick. And she couldn't stick by him twenty-four/seven and still pull off her other job as acting chief engineer.

_If you do anything to her, Jon…_

Trip took a deep breath and shook his head. No… no, he couldn't deal. Instead, he dug into his footlocker, for something he'd stashed there long ago. He hadn't fallen back on them when Elizabeth died, but now… He caressed the small bottle with one hand, staring at the label whose clear print he couldn't read. Slowly he removed the cap and poured a couple of small white pills into his hand. _No_. At least, not yet. He replaced the pills, but put the bottle where he could more easily get at it. 'Yet,' that was key. He knew from hard experience never to assume that things couldn't get worse. _They can always get worse._ Especially with James. _Especially_ with James. He wasn't sure how much difference one loyal friend could make; he'd never had one before.

He tried to do some work, or just play around with some research he'd been interested in, but he couldn't concentrate. He gave it up and began to pace, trying to burn off excess energy. Pacing, push-ups, crunches… _The old prison routine_. Just because there was no place to go, didn't mean that you didn't have to move. He smiled, darkly. Starfleet had been impressed when he first showed up – the physical tests weren't even close to a problem. _Lots of time to get in shape when you're not doing anything else_. Amazing how much energy you burned in your daily life – just running class to class or job to job – and you never noticed it until you found yourself locked up, and it began to build.

He'd let himself slide, though. Over the years there'd been better things to do: beers with a friend, or movies, or even an evening with someone… female. You sometimes forgot how precious _that_ was too… until you remembered the alternative.

At the same time, some of it stuck with you. Jon might have joked about needing 'to make friends with that Nauscican,' when they were on that prison ship, but he had no idea how close to the truth he really was. He'd felt himself automatically adjusting and taking stock of the roles – and God, had _that_ been scary. Jon might have done okay in that prison full of Suliban, but _they_ were just people… they weren't people for whom mayhem and violence were a way of life.

_I let myself get soft_. He'd actually come down and started to _trust_ people. Started to think that maybe they wouldn't hurt him, that maybe…

_Stop it._ He couldn't start thinking like that again. He couldn't start trying to assess everybody's ulterior motives and discover what it was of his that they wanted. He had to stop thinking in terms of simple survival. _You're not _in_ prison, and they can't put you in there again._ Put him out of Starfleet maybe, but not back into prison. He hadn't done anything illegal – he'd checked with his lawyer to find out what he did and didn't have to disclose. Besides, there was always another option. Sure, they watched you, but they couldn't watch you all the time. All he needed was seventy milliamps, and there was more current than that running through all of these walls. And after the incident with Sim… _I made _damn_ good and sure that 'no heroic measures' thing got on my file._ Not that Jon would try to save him now, though he might get mad that Trip once again found a way to escape justice.

And wasn't _that_ hilarious. Back in the old days, when they had the death penalty, they kept guys on death-row on a suicide watch, so they'd be hale and hearty for the executioner. What was the point of that? Dead was dead, wasn't it? Out of the way, no longer a problem? _And felony murder is one of the things they handed it out for_.

He finally stopped, exhausted and covered with sweat. _I really _do_ need that shower, now._ He stripped off the rest of his clothes and left them on the floor as he headed into the bathroom. In the shower, he let the hot spray pound into his muscles and closed his eyes. He felt almost human again. He felt almost…

"You are getting soft."

Trip jumped and spun, eyes widening as they fixed on James standing uninvited in the doorway.

"You should _listen_ more, brother." James stepped into the bathroom and Trip shrank back into the corner of the shower. "_Anybody_ could sneak up on you in here."

"Get out." Trip wished his voice had more force, more authority. He couldn't help it, though. He'd never been able to give orders to James.

"I'm just looking out for your best interests. After all, _you_ know what it's like. Especially…" James flicked his eyes around the room.

_Yeah, I do_. Now, _that_ had been something that raised a few eyebrows back at the Academy. _They must have really wondered about me_. It had taken years before he felt safe stepping into a shower again. Knowing he could do it without someone… he felt the acid and bile rising from his stomach and burning in his throat. He couldn't throw up, he had nothing _left_ to throw up, but his body reacted instinctively nonetheless.

"I don't need to worry about that anymore," he rasped. _At least I didn't_.

"Anything can happen, brother. You never _know_ where you're going to end up."

Well, that was true enough. James' presence served as more than enough proof of that.

"I wonder if it really would do that," James mused.

"What?" The shift in conversation terrified Trip. _Where are we going _now

"Like in that movie you liked so much. When all that girl's blood just swirled down the drain. I don't know how much it would, though. I mean, it would be spraying everywhere if you did her like he did… it wouldn't just drain down… at least not until the heart stopped completely, and the pressure was gone. The water would actually make things _worse_ if it was a shower, because you'd have it splashing… it would just be a mess."

_And that would bother you?_ In prison, James wouldn't have needed to make friends because he would be the guy people wanted to be friends _with_. _Because if you're not…_

"What's wrong? You look pale." James sounded almost amused. "I thought you _liked_ those movies."

"I… I just…" Trip edged his way out of the shower and past his brother, making a break for the relative safety of the next room. James laughed, watching as Trip scrambled into a fresh set of clothes.

"Relax, brother. I just wanted to make sure you were okay." James sauntered casually towards the door. "After all, this has been a rough day on you. I just got my brother _back_, I'd hate to lose him again so soon."

Trip whimpered softly, staring after James until his brother was gone. Then he grabbed his bottle and made his own escape into the hall.

_Please, please, please, please, please_. The cabin wasn't far, and with any luck, she'd be in there.

She opened the door at his first ring, staring at the wide-eyed form that filled her doorframe.

"Can I sleep with you?" His voice came out soft and almost whispery. A child's voice.

Hess stepped back, letting him in. "Of course, you can. Hey… hey." She locked the door as soon as he was inside and guided him over to the bed. "Just… just lie down, okay?"

He nodded and did as she told him, and she covered him with a blanket. Evil Thing jumped up on the foot of the bed, then walked up to sniff Trip's face and breath, confirming his identity. Hess lifted Igor up as well, and both cat and rabbit tucked themselves up against him.

"That's nice." At least _they_ still liked him too. There was something calming, something _safe_ about their presence. _A collection of damaged creatures_. But they weren't enough. They couldn't save him from the monster.

"Here." Hess brought him a mug and sat down beside him. He sat up slightly and sipped it. _Hot milk_. He let it soothe him, leaning his head against her shoulder. "What happened?"

He shook his head. He didn't want to talk about it. _I just don't want to sleep alone_.

"Was it James?"

Trip nodded.

Hess chewed on her lip, obviously trying not to say something. "I don't want you anywhere near him. You stay with me, okay?"

"Okay." There was no need to ask twice. _You're safe. You won't hurt me_. _She_ could keep the monsters at bay. Hess would keep him safe.

Milk and exhaustion caught up with him and he felt his eyes closing. "Stay here?"

"I'll stay." She wiped off the tear that streaked down his cheek. He took her hand in his and held it tight, keeping contact. Only then could he slip off into oblivion.


	4. Divisions

**Disclaimer**: I own neither _Enterprise_ nor its characters. This is for entertainment purposes only.

**Author's Note**: Thank you, to everyone who's taken the time to read and review this for me. Merci beaucoup, tout le monde. Which is about the extent of my French skills. Which makes me glad I don't live in Maillardville. But that's just random. And a great many thanks to my wonderful betas, silvershadowfire, gaianarchy and kate98 who were willing to wade through this for me.

And no, I haven't abandoned my other stuff… there's just a hiatus while I hunt down silvershadowfire's plot-bunny who has decided to abscond with my Squirrel. That, and I love a great bad-guy.

**Chapter 3: Divisions**

He heard a buzzing, but ignored it. The bugs couldn't get him here. He was safe here. Then the angel's voice and something else. Not God… God didn't sound like that – either of Him. But no matter what it was, his angel would protect him.

"What the hell is going on here?" Malcolm's roar woke him fully, and Trip jerked, instinctively clinging to Hess.

"Oh, grow up, Malcolm." Hess patted Trip's hand reassuringly and extricated herself. "We weren't up to anything. Now what do you want?" She stood protectively between them. There was no question whose side she was on here… if Malcolm tried anything he'd be breathing bubbles.

"We were looking for him." Malcolm gestured at the bed and Trip. "Imagine my surprise when I find him here." From the sound of his voice, Malcolm wasn't surprised at all, only angry.

"Given the situation, you shouldn't be. Now, what do you _want_, Malcolm?"

"Captain Archer wants to see him."

"Not without me, he doesn't." Even from here, Trip could see the dangerous glint in Hess' eyes. All she needed was a flaming sword, and the image would be complete.

_My angel_. But he couldn't ask this. He couldn't ask her to put herself in the way.

"I don't think…"

"You're forgetting the full extent of mine and Commander Tucker's relationship. If Captain Archer wants to speak with _my client_ in any capacity, he will do so only in my presence."

"There's only one type of client you end up in bed with," Malcolm muttered.

Hess' hand moved so fast that Trip didn't even see it, only heard the smack of flesh against flesh, and saw the blood dripping from Malcolm's lip. Malcolm just stared at Hess in shock.

"If you _ever_ make that sort of insinuation again, I will personally limit your ability to speak, _permanently_."

Malcolm glanced back and forth between Hess and Trip. "What _is_ going on here?"

Hess glared at Malcolm, saying nothing.

"You wouldn't understand." Trip's voice was soft, still scared. Malcolm _knew_ him and Hess, and still jumped to the wrong conclusion. How could he ever understand the sheer terror of…

Malcolm studied Trip's face, then shook his head. "Captain Archer still wants to see you. He wasn't too happy when he couldn't find you."

"No." No, Jon wouldn't be. Jon didn't like it when he couldn't get a hold of people when he wanted. Trip bowed his head. _I just couldn't stay there. You guys don't know what it's like_. Really, most _guys_ didn't. They couldn't imagine the sheer horror and panic of being held down and forced to… He gagged, and Hess sprang back to his side.

"It's okay." She glared at Malcolm. "Tell Captain Archer," she spat the name out like it was poison, "that we'll be there."

Malcolm's face was unreadable. "I'll tell him." He sounded subdued though, as if thinking about something else. He turned and left, and Trip collapsed against Hess, burying his head in her side.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm sorry I'm so much trouble. I don't mean to…"

"You're not trouble." She rubbed his back, reassuringly. "You're just someone who needs help. That's my job. I'm supposed to help people." She sighed. "But we'd better hurry, because they're going to be expecting us."

He waited until her back was turned, then quickly swallowed a couple of his pills. He _did_ need them. He wouldn't survive without them. He couldn't even deal with Malcolm, so how could he face Jon?

By the time they made it to the ready-room, he could feel them kicking in. _Good_. Jon hated quivering wrecks, which is what he would be without them.

He walked in and sat down where he was told. Jon didn't look happy to see Hess.

"I wanted to speak to Commander Tucker. I _didn't_ say 'bring a friend.'"

"You will not be speaking to Commander Tucker without my presence. Furthermore, _I _will determine what questions he will or will not answer, is that clear, Sir?"

"I don't really have a choice in the matter, do I?" Jon sounded sarcastic.

"Not if you want this conversation to continue." Hess didn't even blink.

"I've done some checking. Apparently Starfleet was unaware of your record when you were accepted." Now Jon turned to Trip.

"I didn't tell them." His own voice was flat, dull.

"Obviously." Jon glared. "Admiral Gardener wasn't any happier to hear the news than I was."

"No, Sir."

"I'm supposed to arrange for a Captain's Mast, and if necessary, recommend charges for court-martial."

Trip said nothing, but Hess jumped into the space. "On what grounds? He was neither legally nor ethically bound to disclose the information."

"He lied on his…"

"No, Sir, if this is in regards to his youth conviction, he did not. The point of expunging a record is to _remove_ the consequences of such an act from the offender's future. If you have a problem with that, Sir, I suggest you write your congressman. However, as the law stands, Commander Tucker has done nothing warranting a court-martial."

Jon opened his mouth. Hess kept going. "And if you proceed in this course of action, I will have no choice but to bring charges against Starfleet in general, and you and Admiral Gardner in specific. Both civil and criminal charges including slander – if necessary libel – and malicious prosecution."

_That's lots._ Trip looked back and forth between the two. They were starting to fade on him. _Oh_.

"Have you considered asking your client what his opinion in the matter is?" Jon turned to Trip. Then he stopped and stared.

_Funny_. Not funny for a laugh, but funny strange. Jon didn't normally stare.

"Trip?"

_Me?_ He supposed it must be about him.

"Commander Tucker." Now Jon sounded angry at someone. _Wait, that's me too._ It didn't hurt though. That was the thing. _I feel nothing_. Not happy, not sad, not scared, not brave. Not like T'Pol felt nothing, though. She just hid and ignored her feelings. _I don't feel_.

"_Sir!"_ Hess moved down, her face now directly in his line of vision. "Oh, God… what's wrong?" She grabbed his wrist and pressed down with two fingers. "What did you take?"

_How'd she know that_? "Medicine. Supposed to."

"I thought you refused medical treatment."

"What kind of medicine, honey?" Both Jon and Hess at the same time. It would be nice if they'd slow down and take turns. Not that it mattered.

"For me. Doctor."

"Which doctor, honey? Phlox? Was it Doctor Phlox?" Hess squeezed his hands, as though trying to get his attention.

He shook his head. Of course it wasn't Phlox. This was from before.

Hess looked almost panicked. He wasn't sure why. It was his medicine, it even said so on the bottle. "How old was it? When did you get it?"

He shrugged. Behind Hess, Jon looked furious. That wasn't good. "Of all the stupid goddamn…"

"Shut up!" Hess turned on Jon. "One more word and I'm filing a restraining order." She turned back to Trip. "We need to get you to the doctor, okay?"

He shook his head. He didn't need the doctor. He'd taken his medicine. He'd be okay now. He'd be good. He'd just sit.

Jon didn't listen. Jon called Phlox, then came back. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I said…"

"_You_ shut up, _Lieutenant_. Trip," Jon grabbed him by the shoulders and shook. "What did you…"

"Get out!" Hess pulled Jon away. Amazing, since she was so small and he was so big. "I _am_ filing a restraining order. If you come within a hundred feet of him, I'll have _you_ arrested."

"Go for it." Jon broke free and went back to Trip. "What kind of a…" He stopped making sense after that. He was speaking, but they weren't words. Trip stared instead at the stars out the window. They were pretty. Streaking by, all warped. Engine. A warp engine. Faster than light, light looks fast. He blinked slowly and watched them. They were like fireflies. Star in a bottle. But that made no sense. Nothing ever did. Two things buzzed, one high, one low. They wanted his attention.

He turned, and blinked again. _Why_ did they want his attention?

Someone else came in. Phlox. Funny looking doctor, but good. Except, he didn't want another doctor. Doctors didn't work. Doctors all said different things, but none worked.

Doctor did something, said something. Jon said something back. Nicci said something. Doctor shook his head. Then Nicci went into his pockets – _his_, not Doctor's, not Jon's. Gave something to Doctor. Doctor looked worried.

_Why?_ It was medicine, his medicine. A doctor said he needed it.

Jon grabbed his arm, levered him up. Started walking towards the door. Trip tried to follow, but he couldn't move that fast. Jon was too fast.

Jon dragged him to Sickbay, dropped him on a table. Doctor started fussing, and Nicci hovered. Then Doctor gave him something from a hypospray, and he went to sleep.

(_dds_)

_I wonder what he did this time?_ Jimmy found himself responding to another page from the captain. It had to be Trip; it could only be about Trip. Big-Brother'd done it again, and now Jimmy had to deal with the fallout. Jimmy sighed. It shouldn't be like this, but it wasn't really Big-Brother's fault. He just didn't have any judgement. Like those fires. Trying to tell everybody that James did it, when it was _Trip's_ clothes that smelled like smoke and _Trip_ that had all the fire stuff. _Fire movies and monster movies_. And so upset when no one would believe him. So he went and started cutting pieces of himself, saying that maybe _then_ people could tell the difference, 'cause they could look at the scars. No wonder Mom and Dad took him to those doctors.

That lawyer he'd had must have done something about that, too. Otherwise, with Trip's medical history, how would he have made it into Starfleet? Probably did the same thing they did at Jimmy's trial, and blamed Jimmy for everything.

_'Cept he's my _big_ brother._ Didn't that mean that _Trip_ was supposed to be the responsible one? Jimmy rang the doorbell to the captain's ready-room, trying to guess just what was up this time.

"Come in." No, Captain Archer didn't sound all that happy.

Jimmy opened the door and went in. Archer sat at his desk, his expression darker than the sky outside the window.

"Sit down."

"Yessir." Best to be extra polite here. After all, until he knew what Trip had done, there was no sense going down the wrong road. That was a big difference between them. Trip seemed to have no connection between his mouth and his brain. He'd just jump in without checking to see if there was more than an inch of water in the pond.

"Can you tell me anything about this?" Archer took a small bottle out of his desk drawer and placed it on the desk. Jimmy recognised it immediately.

"I didn't know he still _had_ anything like that."

Archer raised his eyebrows, waiting for Jimmy to continue.

"Well, I told you when he was younger, he used to have these attacks? The doctors stuck him on those, said they'd help with the symptoms. But he used to say he hated taking them. He said they made him fuzzy." Jimmy wasn't positive what happened, but he could guess. _You took some, didn't you?_ Without even thinking that drugs changed as they got old. Typical Trip. No judgement whatsoever.

"I think you'd better tell me more about your brother." Archer's tone brooked no disagreement.

Jimmy shifted in his seat. "What did you want to know?"

"From the sound of things, everything. Apparently, I don't know much." Archer sounded irritated at the prospect. Jimmy pitied the guy. Here he'd thought he'd had a friend, and it turned out that the 'friend' was a complete stranger. _And even stranger than that._

"Well, I already explained how we look alike. Mom and Dad figured that a two year gap was pretty good… I guess there's some psychological studies about that. Trip was always a little strange, I guess. I mean he'd get _lost_ in things. He'd start doing something, and you could stand there and talk to him, and he'd never even know you were there. It would be weird things sometimes, like screws. He had this collection of screws, and sometimes he'd just sit on his bed sorting and studying them. Sometimes he'd find one from another country – like these ones that he said were from Canada because they had a funny square depression in the top instead of the usual slot or star shape. He knew all the names for the different types – the technical names – and would tell you what each one was used for." Jimmy thought for a moment. "It was like when he found something that caught his attention, he became obsessed. When he started diving, he used to spend every moment he could underwater." Jimmy shuddered. "I _hate_ being underwater. But Trip loved it. Sometimes his tanks would be running on empty before he'd come up. Mom and Dad would scream at him because they were so worried, and he'd just tune them out. It was kind of scary when he'd do that. It was like you didn't even exist to him anymore. Like you weren't real."

"He told me you robbed a liquor store. That's how you ended up in prison." It seemed that Archer _did_ have a specific story he wanted told.

"We were kids. I mean, I was just fourteen. I couldn't even drive. But Trip always let me hang out with him, and… we weren't the best group of kids, any of us. I forget whose idea it was, but I remember that Trip came up with the main plan. _He_ insisted on having the gun – one of the other guys said I should carry it, because I'd get in less trouble, but Trip wouldn't let me." Jimmy grew quiet. "I never thought he'd actually shoot anybody."

"What happened?"

Jimmy coughed. "Well… it's all kind of confusing, Sir. Everything happened so fast. And everybody was yelling, and then Trip shot the clerk…" Who started screaming louder than anybody.

"And then, later, Trip cut himself a deal. He got a better lawyer than I did, and I didn't want to tell on him. I mean, he was my brother, and I didn't want to get him in trouble." Then to see Trip up there on the stand, saying those things he said. That was a complete betrayal. "I was just a kid." He said the last so softly he could barely hear himself. Then he cleared his throat. "After that, I never saw him again. I mean, we weren't even in the same facility, and he…" Jimmy took a deep breath. "…he wouldn't see any visitors. He wouldn't see Mom and Dad. That hurt them so much." They'd even asked Jimmy if he could write Trip a letter and see if he could get his brother to listen. After all, they'd been close. All Mom and Dad wanted Trip to know was that it was okay, and they still loved him. But the letter came back, along with a letter from Trip's lawyer to refrain from any further contact. Trip just cut his family off, just like that. The only person he'd ever talk to was Elizabeth. It was years before Mom and Dad heard from him, and that was just a quick call after their little sister died. _Bastard system didn't even want to let me go to her funeral._ But he'd fought and petitioned, and they took him under guard. It wasn't too hard to get away then, but like he told Big-Brother, he didn't want to spend the rest of his life in prison. _Which is what you set me up for_. And what kind of a justice system was it, anyway, when they didn't even want to let you go say goodbye to your baby sis?

"I always got the impression that Trip got along with his parents."

Jimmy looked sad. "When he was younger, I guess he did. But you know teenagers… I don't think anybody gets along with their parents at that age."

Archer gave a short laugh. "Probably not. And what I do know about Trip, he does tend to take things to extremes."

Jimmy nodded. "That much hasn't changed then. It's like I said: he'd kind of become obsessed with things. There was never any middle ground." Jimmy sighed. "Maybe that's part of his problem. He never could find a happy medium."

"I wish he could, sometimes." Archer said, softly.

"Yeah. All I know is that it wasn't easy being apart from him. I mean, all my life my big-brother had been there, and suddenly I was in jail and he wasn't there anymore."

"That must have been hard." Archer sounded sympathetic.

"It was. It ain't fun in there… the movies don't even come close. Even in Juvvie… you couldn't even imagine what goes on. Not really."

"Then Trip didn't go to a juvenile facility?" Now Archer sounded a bit surprised.

"No… it's weird. The deal was as a juvenile, but he ended up in an adult prison. That freaked out Mom and Dad… especially when you consider."

"Consider?"

"Pretty blond boy in a place like that?" Jimmy chewed his lip. "He musta picked up some nasty tricks just to survive. I know."

"And you were even younger." Archer seemed lost in thought for a moment. "Thank you, Mr. Tucker. This has been informative."

"Jimmy, please." He stood up and put out his hand. Archer took it.

"Jon. After all, you're not a member of my crew, I can hardly ask you to keep calling me 'Sir.'"

"What's happening to us, by the way? I'm assuming you can't keep us hanging around?"

"Who? Oh. We're rendezvousing with a Vulcan vessel. It will take you to Vulcan, and from there, I guess it's up to you. _Enterprise_ is still an exploration vehicle. They expect us to go out, not back." Archer smiled a little.

"Well, Jon, I guess I can't ask for more than that." Jimmy smiled back. "In fact, that sounds real good to me."

Archer seemed to think of something else. "Why don't you join me for dinner? I've got a ton of questions for you, but right now I've got things I have to get to."

"That would be an honour, Jon. Hopefully I'll be able to answer them." Probably more than Trip ever had, that was for sure. _Oh, brother…_

(_dds_)

He felt like somebody'd stuffed his mouth full of feathers. His fingernails hurt. His head had a plasma torch aimed at each temple, and right between his eyes. He was, unfortunately, alive and once again able to feel.

He opened his eyes and found the lights of Sickbay staring back at him. Yes, he was definitely alive – damn doctor had done it again. He wanted to puke, but he still hadn't eaten anything.

He rolled his head over to look at the door. Jon stood there, but Hess blocked his way. Wordlessly, she handed him a padd. Jon read it, glared at her and then at him, then stormed off.

He rolled his head back and closed his eyes again. He wanted to sleep some more. But he was too uncomfortable to sleep. _'Don't close your eyes. Don't turn out the light.'_ Sleeping wasn't safe. You never knew what would happen if you fell asleep. That was why he was so good at going without it. He'd learned to, learned to adapt. _Sleep light_. _Don't turn it out_. He'd get no sleep here. Not with the animals and the fuss. Everybody thought he was a heavy sleeper, but that was just a fake-out. The slightest thing could wake him. _It could be somebody_. And you never knew what somebody might do. What you did was figure out who that somebody was, first. Wake quick enough, and you'd have time no matter what. _Don't let them sneak up on you_. How could he have forgotten those rules?

Simple. He'd let himself believe that he'd never need them again. He'd let himself believe that he was a good person surrounded by other good people, and good people didn't need to worry about things like that. _I fell for my own game_. Maybe the _law_ said you couldn't bring up 'prior bad acts,' but wasn't your identity all _about_ what you'd done? You didn't escape things like that.

"How're you feeling?" Hess came to his side and stood there, watching him. "That was kind of scary; I thought we were going to lose you."

"I'm sorry. I just can't… I can't…"

"Shhh." She laid a hand on his forehead. "They're not coming anywhere near you."

He stared at her, not comprehending, not believing. How? And why should James care?

"I've got restraining orders against both of them, which means if they come anywhere near you, they can be thrown in the brig, even if I'm the one to do it."

"Who?" Who was 'they?' James, that made sense… but 'they' meant more than one.

"Your brother and Captain Archer."

_Why Jon?_ Then it hit him. Jon belonged to James now. He believed James and, like everyone else who did, would never see the truth. "Oh."

"I'm sorry, I know you don't want to do that, but…"

"It's okay." No, it wasn't really, but what could you do? Jon wasn't Trip's friend anymore, not if he'd sided with James. _And if you're not my friend_… There was no such thing as neutral, not in a situation like this.

He sat up, carefully. He didn't want to stay here. Normally the infirmary was semi-safe, but Phlox had to listen to Jon about most things. Maybe not on the straight medical issues, but if Jon wanted to talk to Trip, Jon would talk to Trip. _You can't stay awake all the time, Nicci._ Even she needed to sleep, even if it was only a couple of hours every night.

"Hey. Hold on there, mister. Doctor Phlox doesn't want you going anywhere." She grabbed his arm, steadying him.

"I can't stay here." He needed safer ground. He needed somewhere that nobody would think to look for him, where he could hide out.

"You had a near-fatal overdose of anti-depressants." Hess tried to get him to lie back down again.

"Paper won't stop James." If he didn't care about killing people, why should James care about a restraining order?

"It's an excuse. So far, he hasn't done anything we can lock him up for, but we can with that. And if he doesn't violate it, that's even better for you."

"Hess, you don't understand." Trip turned pleading eyes to his last remaining friend. "He'll get to me. If he knows where I am, he'll get to me." _I know you like to think you know everything, girl, but you don't know this._ _For which I am eternally grateful_. "He knows ways of doing it."

"James?"

"Or Jon." Look at the number of times Jon had overridden Phlox and badgered a patient. Or risked their lives, like he did with Hoshi. _Jon gets his way_. Funny, he'd never noticed that before.

_No_. No, whatever Jon might have done in his life, whatever side he chose, he wasn't like James. At least Jon always had a reason you could defend and had the soul and conscience to feel guilty for having done it, if it turned out that he had been wrong. Look at what he went through after throwing that pirate in the airlock. _You shoulda let me take care of it_. They wouldn't have needed the airlock – Trip had learned enough ways of garnering cooperation. _Look after me, and I look after you_. You either did favours, or you _were_ the favour. He'd done both – it was amazing how much a person would help you out when the drill was right next to their eye. Death wasn't scary, pain was. And people were like sharks – sensitive about the eyes.

Trip shivered at the memory. He could still hear the whine of the drill and feel the heat of it in his hands. He hadn't felt anything at the time, as though he wasn't even there, as though it wasn't even real. But now… now, he could almost see the blood and bone and the spatter that had never happened. He hadn't actually _done_ anything, but… _would I?_ It was nice to think that he wouldn't have, that he would have backed out, but he knew better. Because you always knew you could be on the other end as well, feeling the hot breath on the back of your neck and trying not to listen to the grunts, even as you were too scared and alone and hurt to scream. And knowing that it wouldn't matter anyway – even if you _did_ scream, nobody would care.

_That was your part of the deal_, he reminded himself. _He'd_ chosen the adult facility… it was either that risk ending up in the same place as James.

_Mom…_ He hadn't let them see him, didn't want them to see what he'd become and what had happened to him. He didn't want them to see the blood and the bruises, and the way he sometimes limped when he walked. Bad enough that both their sons were locked away; they didn't need to know all the details and circumstances. When he got out, the thought of a reunion was too painful. How much did they blame him? James was still in jail. Wouldn't his presence remind them of that and the fact that Trip was the one who put him there? Besides, he wasn't the same person anymore. _You wouldn't know me_. He'd put on ten pounds of solid muscle and had a punch that guys twice his size had learned to respect. He'd learned other new skills too – skills he found himself using later, when he least expected. _Where the hell do you _think_ I learned to pick locks and disable security systems?_ They didn't get that specific at E-school. _But at_

_school_… well, everybody knew something, right? And Trip was always willing to learn; even prison couldn't grind that trait out of him.

"Mister Tucker," Phlox came rushing in, just in time to stop Trip from sliding off the bed. "You shouldn't even be sitting up, you're in no shape to go running around the ship…"

"I'm in no shape to stay here, Doc." Trip shook himself loose and got down. "If you're smart, you'll let me go. And don't ask where, because Jon can't make you tell what you don't know."

"Commander…"

Trip shook his head. "Tell Jon I quit. He'll have the letter within the day."

"No, Sir, don't do that." Hess looked shocked. "You don't want to do that. This is your life."

"I know. But it won't be." He felt calmer now that he'd said it. Maybe it was because it _was_ said, now. _My career is over_. He could accept that and move on. If only it didn't hurt like hell. "We rendezvous with that Vulcan ship in a week, right?" He'd found out what was happening with the refugees – he'd hitch a ride with them and James could stay here with his new best-buddy. _He used to be mine_.

"They can't take it away from you, Sir." Her lip jutted out, and her jaw quivered. "You can get a transfer… I'll go with you. I wouldn't want to be here if you weren't, anyway…"

"You gotta let me go sometime, Hess." He stepped away from her, trying not to think about what those words did to her heart. "Sometimes… sometimes you can't fix what's broken. You just gotta scrap the part."

"You are not a piece of machinery! You're my friend!" She hit him, her frustration bubbling to the top.

"Then do me a favour. Let me go. Don't make me feel guilty that I've held you up, or put you at any kind of risk." He quickened his pace, trying to see through the tears that threatened to burn through his eyes. _But I am your friend, girl. And I'm not going to let you throw away your one shot because of a loser like me._ She deserved better than this. She deserved better than some useless coward of an ex-con with no future and no hope. And she had a start on it… look at the way Malcolm reacted this morning. _He's good for you girl, better than me_.

"Why?" She caught up with him, refusing to listen. "You're the only friend I've got, really. Why should I…"

"I'm _not_. And if I am, I shouldn't be." He found himself shouting. "You've wasted enough time on me as it is! Do something for yourself, for once! You can't save me! Nobody can!" He shoved her, knocking her backwards onto the floor. She hadn't even tried to defend herself, not expecting violence, not from him. He left her behind, getting out of there while she stared after him, tears in her eyes now. Good. Maybe she could see him for what he was, not what he pretended to be.

_I hate you_. The words weren't directed at Hess, at Jon, or even at James. They were meant for only one man, the only one who could hear them. _I hate you, Charles Tucker III. I hate you so much… you've ruined my life._ He did let the tears fall now, there was no reason he had to keep up appearances. He'd lost everything, now. There was just one thing left to do.

(_dds_)

"He did _what_? Thank you, Doctor. No, I don't think so. No." Jon turned away from the com shaking his head. "Sometimes…"

"Trip again?" Jimmy took a sip of his water and nodded. "I know what you mean. There are times when you're sure he's a genius and others when you wonder if he even knows how to think."

Jon nodded. "I never thought I'd see the day he'd turn on Hess, though. Those two have been best friends for longer than I've known him." He seemed almost contemplative. "And I never thought he'd be stupid enough to get violent with her."

Jimmy raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"Hess has been known to beat up on MACOs just for practice. Your brother might have a good punch, but the trick would be landing it." Jon looked at Jimmy pointedly. "She may _look_ small and fragile, but a lot of people have learned the hard way how deceiving that is. She grew up with five older brothers and they taught her every dirty trick they've ever learned. And when you consider that a large amount of her family is in law-enforcement, that's a lot of training."

Jimmy snorted. "Big-Brother hanging out with a family of cops. Now that's something I wouldn't have thought of." It was good information to have though.

"I'll bet." Jon shook his head again. "Now that I know what I do, it surprises me, too."

"I guess he just didn't tell them," Jimmy smiled wryly. "But what's the story with this?" He laid a padd on the table. "A restraining order?"

"I got one too. Hess can be a little overprotective at times." Jon swallowed a gulp of iced tea. "She seems to think that I'm somehow a threat to the health and welfare of her 'client.'" Jimmy could hear the quotes around the last word.

"Client?" Jimmy jerked his head back in confusion. "I thought she was an engineer."

"Double degrees," Jon smirked. "Yeah, as hard as it is to believe, she pulled off a Law Degree from Stanford as well as Engineering at UC Berkeley." Jon sounded almost disgusted at the fact that the girl had managed such a feat. "Every time your brother gets into trouble, she tries to pull him out of it. Of course, half the time she's the reason he's _in_ trouble to start with…"

"Amazing." So even out here, Trip had landed himself some heavy-duty legal counsel. That explained the friendship, too… it must be nice having a lawyer you didn't have to pay. Though why he'd chosen _now_ to destroy that set-up, Jimmy couldn't imagine. _But that's Big-Brother for you_. The worst sense of timing in the universe. Like the time he walked in on Mom and the next-door-neighbour… Jimmy'd found him sitting out in the garage, dismantling a bike and muttering to himself. Mom had been understandably upset: Trip was supposed to be at school, not coming home sick in the middle of the day without telling anyone. It had taken _hours_ for Jimmy to find out what was wrong, and Trip had been mortified when Jimmy wanted to know more about what 'Mom and Mrs. Gauge' had been doing. In fact, Trip didn't talk much for _days_ after that, except to himself.

It was pretty disturbing the way Trip did that, too. Sometimes it was just muttering, but other times it was loud, coherent sentences, like he expected an answer back. And sometimes he _would_ answer back, and the scary thing was that when he did he was usually saying that it was _Jimmy_ who was crazy. _But I never talked to myself_. Or walls, or trees, or any number of things that Big-Brother used to talk to. Mom and Dad even had him tested for schizophrenia at one point when Jimmy mentioned that it was worrying him, but the doctors said that wasn't it, and to wait and see if he grew out of it. _I guess he did, or else people around here don't care_.

"Trip always was a little strange, though. I think I said." Jimmy took another bite of his steak. "This really is excellent, you know. You have a great cook."

"Thank you." Jon looked almost proud, like he'd cooked it himself. "I had to pull a lot of strings to get Chef out here… Headquarters really didn't want to let him go."

"I can imagine." With food like this, no wonder Big-Brother was getting soft. _They didn't feed us like this in prison_. Of course, if they did, everybody'd be breaking the law just to get in. But now… now it was Big-Brother out in the cold, and Jimmy with his feet under the captain's table. _I wonder what _you're_ eating tonight_.

(_dds_)

_Bang. Bang, bang!_ The sound of protesting metal echoed off the bare walls as Trip hammered on the empty cargo container. Hayes with all his fancy gear never thought of this. _Tried and true_. Trip punched the container again and again, ignoring the pain in his knuckles and the impact energy that raced up his arm and into his shoulder. Cargo containers didn't give, so all that energy came back on you, taught you what it was like to hit something solid. And bare knuckles, not gloves, so you toughened your hands up and gave them a taste of what a landed punch felt like.

Besides, it was cold in here, so he had to keep moving. One spare little space heater didn't add a lot of warmth to the area; the little unit wasn't designed for a task like keeping things warm between the inner and outer hulls. But with luck, they wouldn't look for him here, wouldn't think that he'd hide out somewhere like this.

_Just like home_. Except for the amount of space, this area had a lot in common with his old prison cell. _Poorly lit, poorly heated, and poorly decorated._ The only light he had came from a trouble-light he'd hung from one of the beams – shadows served as his source of company. But this was _his_ space now, his new space, one that James hadn't violated. _And if he does, I'll violate him_. There were rules, after all, and one of those rules was that you didn't mess with another guy's space. James knew those rules, so he wouldn't be surprised at the consequences.

_It's a new day, brother, and a new game_. The use of James' own term seemed fitting. He'd just cut his last tie to civilisation: he didn't have to obey those rules anymore. _Congratulations, you broke me. You win._ Let James lie and charm. Trip would be honest. Brutally.

"And what did that thing ever do to you?"

Trip jumped and then turned to glare at the intruder. "I might have known you'd find me. What the hell do you want, Malcolm?"

Malcolm shrugged and stepped through the gap in the wall, replacing the panel behind him. "Your little minion was worried about you. I'm sorry I took so long, but I took the liberty of checking the airlocks first."

"Tell her to mind her own business. And you can do the same with yours." Trip glared, feeling the sweat run down his face, despite the cold. He wiped his elbow across his forehead, and glanced back at the container again. _Ready for round two?_

"Ah… but this _is_ my business." Malcolm settled down cross-legged on the floor. "A missing crewmember, possibly suicidal…"

"I'm not a crewmember. I told Phlox to tell Jon I quit." He started up again on the container, hammering even harder now.

"Oh. Well, then you're a possible security threat. After all, you do know all of these systems forward and backward. If you _are_ feeling disgruntled, who's to say that you wouldn't cause catastrophic damage to the ship?" Malcolm's voice clearly said it was an excuse even he didn't believe.

"What the hell do you _want_, Malcolm?" Trip punctuated the question with a flurry of quick shots. One thing about those training sessions: they'd improved his speed.

"To make sure that you're okay. I know you think that nobody cares…"

"Nobody _should_ care. That's the problem, Mal. All you guys thinking that you can help me… well you _can't_. I'm not worth the help, anyway." Trip tried out a combination. "You're getting yourself mixed up in something you don't understand."

"Why wouldn't I understand it?"

"Because it's another world, Mal." A world that decent people could never hope to understand.

"So's Vulcan, but I can deal with T'Pol."

"Vulcan runs on logic." It didn't run on hatred and revenge. _Look after me, and I'll look after you._ Of course there was the codicil of 'cross me, and you'll live to regret it.' If a Vulcan used violence, it was an instant response to a situation. They didn't hunt you down for something you'd done yesterday or a week ago. They didn't wait with a homemade knife until you let your guard down and turned your back.

"So?"

"Don't do this to yourself, Malcolm. Jon's not my friend anymore, so it probably wouldn't be a good idea for you to be."

"How do you know that?" Listening to Malcolm, this conversation could have been an everyday chat over tea and crumpets. He really _didn't_ get it.

"I know Jon. We'd been having trouble as it was. Me, this… it's the last straw." Malcolm's first loyalty had to be to his commanding officer. It was the way Malcolm had been raised, and the way he'd been trained.

Malcolm studied him, quietly. "Hess is right. You _are_ suicidal."

"What the hell are you talking about, Malcolm?" Trip stopped hammering the drum to stare.

"Remember, I've seen it before. Combative, abrasive… pushing people away and cutting the ties… they're classic symptoms. You're getting prepared to play the martyr again and sacrifice yourself to save everybody else." Malcolm took a small box out of his pocket and Trip recognised it immediately.

"How the hell did you get…"

"Now, these look nasty." Malcolm ignored him, opening the box and seeming to examine the contents. "Do they really work?"

Trip said nothing.

Malcolm took one of the rings out of the box, and turned it over in his hands. "Elegant, really. Quite the craftsmanship."

"Yeah, they work." They weren't much really, just pieces of wire wound into rings with sharp barbs on the outside to dig into flesh when you punched someone. _Brass knuckles with a twist_. The first guy to get it with them had been shocked. They didn't cut deep, but they weren't meant to. He'd fashioned them to flay the skin off of somebody's face, or to get through a thin layer of clothing. They weren't designed for self-defence; they were designed to punish.

"You've used them?"

"Yes." He'd used them. More than once. They'd become his signature – when someone got ripped to shreds, everybody knew that person had pissed off Trip's 'guardian angel.'

"Would you again?"

Trip looked away. _I wish I could say I wouldn't_. But you never knew what the circumstances were going to be. _I never thought I'd see James again, either_.

Malcolm threw the box at him and he caught it. "Why can't you answer that question?"

"I…"

"Still have a conscience?" Malcolm sighed. "Did I ever tell you that I ran away from home when I was sixteen?"

Trip shook his head. "No. You didn't."

"It's another world." Malcolm threw Trip's words back at him. "On the streets. My first night out, I was beaten and robbed when I tried to find a place to sleep. I had people threaten to kill me because they wanted my jacket, or my shoes. I ate things that I don't even want to think about now. I know every single one of you used to look at me and wonder how I became an armoury officer. After all, I'm hardly the biggest or strongest candidate for the job… I'm not even the fastest or the smartest. Do you know how I beat Hayes? A MACO? The 'best of the best?'"

Trip shook his head. "I assumed you got lucky."

"Because Hayes _was_ a MACO. He was a professional, and he expected me to be a professional, too. I broke the rules, used techniques that weren't in the book. Some of them aren't in any book. The only way you learn them is when someone tries to kill you with them." His voice hardened. "So, you see I _do_ know what it's like to sleep without sleeping, and to try to get the other guy before he gets you." Malcolm smiled slightly. "That's why I always liked that scene."

"Scene?" Trip wrinkled his brow at the shift in conversation.

"_Raiders of the Lost Ark. _Where Harrison Ford shoots the guy with the sword? You don't waste time on fancy tricks and threats. He says he's going to kill you, you kill him first."

"You ever gone looking for someone to _give_ him a beating?" That was the difference. Letting yourself become _part_ of the violence.

"Not in the last six years." Malcolm said calmly.

"What the fuck? Come on, Mal… you've never done that." Not in a million years. Mild-mannered Malcolm? _No way_.

"Yes, I have." Malcolm didn't even change expression. "My sister-in-law showed up at my door one day with her kids – her husband had gotten drunk and hit her and them. This is Madeline's husband's sister… so she wasn't even _really_ family. But he'd picked a really bad time to do it, because I'd been fighting with Starfleet bureaucracy about weaponry for _Enterprise_ – something I was right about, incidentally – and had one cadet in my group with a real attitude, and I couldn't really pound on him. So I went over there, and I expressed my displeasure in no uncertain terms."

Trip blinked. Only Malcolm could describe it that way. "And no one pressed charges."

"No. But then would you want to admit that you beat on your family?" Malcolm smiled slyly. "And then got your ass kicked by someone like me?"

"No." Trip admitted. "No, I wouldn't. But at least you had a decent reason. I used to do it because I was asked to, or because I knew I _would_ be asked to…"

"And what were the consequences of saying no? How does anybody know what they'd do when faced with that situation? 'What is morality in any given time or place? It is what the majority then and there happen to like, and immorality is what they dislike.'" Trip knew it was a quote, but was unwilling to hazard a guess as to who had originally said it.

"Alfred North Whitehead." Malcolm supplied. "British mathematician and philosopher. Everybody follows the rules of the society they live in, or pays the consequences. In your society, the consequences were rather severe."

"Yeah." Severe was one way to put it. "But that's just an excuse, Mal… I mean…" Damnit, he was starting to cry again. He couldn't do that, crying was a weakness.

"You know, my uncle used to say that the terms 'sixteen' and 'stupid' were synonymous. It took me a while to realise what he meant. We like to think we have judgement at that age… but we don't have it in the least. And from what I hear, you went from a bad situation into more of the same. Maybe even worse."

Trip shook his head. No… not worse. Maybe some of the _things_ were worse, but overall… _They didn't try to kill me _every_ night. They didn't try to make me think I was crazy. They weren't my little brother._ That made it easier, knowing that the face that looked down on you didn't match your own. And when things were over, you _could_ sleep at night, you didn't have to lie awake and wonder if the enemy was coming back. And once you learned that there were rules… well, there _were_ rules. With James, there had been no rules, no consistency. _That's where a lot of the terror came from_. You never knew when, you never knew how.

"Don't tell me James actually…" Finally, something seemed to shock Malcolm.

"No." No need for Malcolm to finish the sentence, Trip knew what he meant. "Not to me."

"To other children."

Trip turned away. He couldn't look at Malcolm anymore. He couldn't look at anybody anymore. "I never told. By the time I found out, I didn't tell anybody anything anymore. I knew he'd lie… I knew that even if the kids said who it was, he'd say it was me. And how could anyone tell the difference?"

"And you knew that he'd kill you."

Trip nodded. That shouldn't have mattered, though. "I'm just a coward. That's all. I'm too afraid of my baby brother to do anything to stop him." He laughed nastily and turned around, spreading his arms wide. "Look at me! I can't even deal with it now! Running to ground… setting myself up a hidey-hole and letting him get away with whatever he likes. He runs me. He owns me."

"He doesn't own you." Malcolm stood up and crossed his arms over his chest. "The fact that you're here, the fact that you care enough to try and keep your friends out of danger… you're fighting him the best you can."

"'The best I can' would be putting him in the morgue," Trip muttered.

"Could you? Could you really look your brother in the eye and kill him? Knowing that you were there to commit murder, knowing that you'd be going to prison again, this time for the rest of your life?"

Trip shook his head. "That's why…"

"That's why he's the psychopath and you're not. Because you _do_ know the difference between right and wrong, and you _do_ care. Look at you. You're beating yourself up for things you did years ago to people that could hardly be called 'innocent.' And between you and that nut, you've blown everything out of proportion."

"Nut?"

"That creature that looks like she escaped from a manga drawn by someone on hallucinogens. The one that would use a sledgehammer to pound in a finishing nail."

Trip crumbled. "She probably hates me more than anybody. What I said to her…"

"Bounced right off that armour plating she calls a head. Mostly. I was threatened with dismemberment if I didn't find you and talk some sense into you, and I'm not saying which member."

Trip started laughing, partly at the joke, but mostly from pure hysteria. "I can't believe she'd do that. Well, I can, but I can't…"

"She cares. She probably cares more about you than she does about me."

Trip's head snapped up. "Are you saying…"

"I thought that would get your attention," Malcolm said dryly. "I've got ears, I do hear rumours every now and then. What I'm saying is that you're her 'Boy.' There are three creatures in this world I would never risk doing harm to, because it would mean my life. One is that rabbit, another is that cat, and the third is you."

"Good, because that's my cat." Trip's expression grew a little distant. "I just couldn't keep him where I was staying… and by the time I got a place where I could, he'd been with Hess for too long. It wouldn't have been fair to take him away."

"For the cat, or for Hess?"

Trip chuckled softly. "Both of them, I guess. Besides, he's better there."

"Better?"

"I had a cat. Before him, when I was a kid. He ate some poison or something, or maybe James fed it to him. I wouldn't put it past him. Well, it wasn't really my cat, just a neighbourhood stray…" Trip felt his chest catch, "But I'd feed him under the porch – Mom and Dad wouldn't let us have pets like that in the house – and after awhile he let me hold him and pet him," tears started to stream down his cheeks, "and then one day, I went out, and he was lying under the porch, and he wasn't breathing… his eyes were wide open and he was staring at me, but he wasn't breathing. I was ten… you know how you are at ten, anything's possible. I remember… I was thinking that maybe I could bring him back, like they did in _Frankenstein_ to the monster… bring him alive again if he was hit by lightning."

"Which is why you were up on the roof." Malcolm's lips hardened into a thin line. "That story's all over _Enterprise_ by now."

"See? Everybody out there thinks I'm crazy. Hell, Mal, _I_ think I'm crazy. But the point is, I was scared to have a cat. I kept thinking that if I kept him, he was going to die. I know… I know, it's a stupid thing, right? Especially with James locked up safe and far away. Except I don't _know_ if James killed my cat… maybe it was something I gave him."

"Or maybe it was something he found," Malcolm reasoned. "But as long as the story stays with your brother's version, everybody _will_ think you're crazy. You say Captain Archer doesn't like you anymore… but how is he supposed to get a good impression when the only source of information he has is James? _I_ thought there was more to the story, but then I've actually _read_ Shelley's novel. Frankenstein was never trying to create a monster. I didn't figure you would be, either."

"Why not? I'm the horror movie freak. I'm the guy who likes watching films full of dead and undead bodies…"

"Who risks his life to rescue kittens. Who cries at _sad_ movies. Who'd rather stick his hand in a meat grinder than disappoint a kid."

"Who used to open people's faces with these things." Trip flourished the box."_Used_ to. The key word there is _used_. I remember reading a book one time, and it had an afterword by a rather famous horror writer. Anyway, he started by saying that there were people that looked at those who read horror fiction and thought 'what is wrong with these people?' But his conclusion spoke of those who wouldn't read horror fiction, and he speculated that maybe they were afraid of death in some way, or were somehow so unimaginative that they couldn't consider what lay beyond. He finished by asking 'What is wrong with these people?'" Malcolm smiled. "I rather agree with him, actually. There is absolutely nothing wrong with enjoying horror fiction, provided that you understand that it _is_ fiction."

"Remember the cat?" Trip smiled cynically.

"You were ten. I would imagine you've outgrown that sort of thing."

"Yeah." The smile twisted even further. "Now _I'm_ the monster."

"Just because…" Malcolm paused, appearing to think for a minute. "Well, okay, I'll admit that having someone else's brain probably might qualify… but remember you got it _before_ you died."

Trip turned away again. _Don't remind me of when Jon was my friend_. How could he blame Hess? Hadn't he chosen _his_ assignment in order to be with _his_ friend? _Admittedly, I wasn't leaving anybody behind…much_. Maybe Hess felt the same way. She was wrong, of course, and any idiot could see it. _But I'd never call you _any_ idiot_.

"Besides, you've changed. You're clearly not the person you were then, and anyone who can't see that is a fool."

"Are you calling your captain a fool?" He hadn't meant to say it, and he certainly didn't mean for it to come out as bitterly as it did.

"In this matter, yes. If he truly believes that you're the same person that went into prison…"

"Don't forget who I was Inside. And I _was_ considered an adult." _I knew what I was doing_. Trip turned back for the attack.

"I had a commanding officer once who didn't figure I should have this job. He told me that I was too decent a person, and that anyone who worked in Security had to have 'a little dirt on their soul.'" Malcolm shrugged. "I said I had some people who would give him a reference, and provided him with an old address and a couple of old 'friends' with a description. I remember when I saw him after that. He had me summoned to his room and when I went there, he looked at me and asked if I really had lived there. When I said 'yes,' he told me I was 'dirty enough.'" Malcolm smiled slightly. "I would have asked for more details, but the nurse told me that visiting hours were over."

"You know, the more I hear about you…" Trip shook his head.

"None of us are angels, or we wouldn't be able to survive the things we have out here. Even Captain Archer has his secrets."

"Not like mine," Trip muttered.

"Probably not," Malcolm admitted. "But that doesn't mean he doesn't have them. Nobody's perfect. If we were, we wouldn't be human."

"You keep trying to be," Trip pointed out.

"Yes." Malcolm nodded, and uncrossed his arms. "I do. And you keep trying to be a saint, or a hero. Rescuing the princess, saving the world, striking a blow for freedom… you're a crusader, which is, incidentally, what gets you in so much trouble. Maybe if you weren't so noble, Captain Archer wouldn't have been so shocked."

"Maybe if I hadn't been such a bastard, he wouldn't have had to be."

"Why do I get the idea that one day I really _am_ going to have to shoot you? And people think _I'm_ gloomy and depressive. We are who we are. We can't change the things we've done; all we can do is not repeat those mistakes from this point forward. Which isn't to say that we won't make more." Malcolm sighed. "After all, look at some of the things we did in the Expanse. You were probably the best behaved out of all of us."

"Which doesn't say much," Trip started punching the drum again.

"Which is exactly my point. We shouldn't be judging you on something you did while still technically a terrorised child, and not judge ourselves on things we've done while sober, responsible adults."

"You _have_ been talking to Hess."

Malcolm laughed. "I told you I was. If anyone's created a monster…"

"She doesn't listen well, I'll give you that."

"No, she just doesn't do what you tell her. I'd say she was listening rather well." Malcolm stepped up to the drum and moved it out of Trip's range. "Like I said, she cares, and she was worried. And from the looks of things, she had reason to be."

"I thought… I thought I'd left all that behind me, you know? I thought I was finally becoming someone that people could trust… that I had finally escaped. And now… You don't understand Mal. I _can't_ go out there. If I go…" Trip shook his head. He could feel himself hyperventilating again. "He's there."

"So's Hess. So am I. We're your friends. So's Captain Archer…"

"Jon's not my friend. Not anymore."

"How do you know that?" Malcolm said, irritably. "You've hardly even talked to him since your brother got here."

"Yeah, but… with everything… you don't understand… James…" James could convince anybody of anything. James could convince people that the sun would rise in the west. "James won't let me go. You, Nicci… anyone who sides with me… He won't… he won't allow it." He could feel his tongue tangling around the simple words.

"There's limited air in here." Malcolm's face became stern. "These areas weren't designed to be lived in."

"I know." It was one reason why not a lot of people would think to look in here. "I'll… I'll be okay, Mal."

"Right."

He didn't see it coming, the low shot to the ribcage followed by an elbow to the head. He just felt the pain, then saw the light-show in his eyes, and then nothing.


	5. Like Cats and Dogs

**Disclaimer:** I own neither _Enterprise_ nor its characters. This is for entertainment purposes only, no financial gain is recognised from these works.

**Author's Note**: Thank you my readers and reviewers... as always and heartfelt. Thank you too, to my always incredible beta-readers: silvershadowfire, gaianarchy and kate98 without whom the finished product would be a much lesser thing. Also: if you _are_ interested in any possibility of rescuing _Enterprise_, vote in a way the industry recognises. If you can, buy the DVD set when it is released. Other shows have been resuscitated this way, and in television money is the _only_ persuader that counts. If the advertisers know the audience is willing to buy... cyincal, I know, but true. And it's not like we don't like the show...

Oh, and for those of you who are wondering? Cat person. Definitely cat person.

Chapter 4: Like Cats and Dogs

He woke in a bed, or at the very least, on something flat. His head still hurt… damn, Malcolm had a sharp elbow. _Nasty little bastard, too_. He hadn't even changed expression – it was a move worthy of Hess. _They _are_ perfect for each other._

He slowly opened the eye that didn't hurt – _why'd you have to hit me there? –_ to try and determine where he was. _Small room, heavy doors, break-resistant windows…_ only one place on the ship looked like this. _Well, I can't say I don't belong here_.

"I thought I'd better keep you somewhere I can better monitor the oxygen supply." Malcolm's dry tones dropped from the overhead speaker. "After all, I wasn't getting anywhere trying to _talk_ sense into you, and I do like having all my bits attached."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a vicious son-of-a-bitch?"

Malcolm pretended to think. "I'm not sure that there isn't a person who hasn't –once they get to know me."

"What do you want with me?" Funny how having someone to be mad at could make you feel better. But it did. He felt sulky, which was a million times better than the fear he'd been running on.

"My life. I might get away with hitting you, but if I let you die…" Malcolm shuddered.

"She wouldn't actually kill you." Probably not, anyway.

"I'm not staking _my_ survival on that. Besides, is it really that difficult for you to consider that you _might_ just have friends?" Malcolm didn't seem willing to even _try_ to understand how impossible that was.

"Is it so difficult for you to consider that I don't _want_ them?" Sooner or later… look what happened with Jon. _Sooner or later, they always get hurt_. He didn't need that on his conscience. He'd done enough damage already.

"Well, like it or not, you're stuck with us." Malcolm stared him down from the safety of the other side of a cell door. "You're just going to have to face the fact that there are people in your life who care about you, and care what happens to you."

"You shouldn't." Trip reiterated. "It's not worth the pain."

"It's not your call. If I want to be masochistic, that's my decision." Malcolm walked up and stared into the cell. "Personally, I don't think I'm the masochist here. But if you want to play martyr, I'm _not_ building you a cross."

"Thanks. I've seen your building skills." Trip closed his eye and tried to forget anything existed, especially those angry, accusing eyes. _I never wanted to be your friend, Mal. _You_ were the one that had to play saviour_. It was stupid, too. Any intelligent person would have let Trip crawl into that air-lock and double his or her own chances of survival. But when it was _Malcolm's _turn… he practically _demanded_ that Jon kill him for the good of the ship, or some such nonsense. Even tried to do it himself.

_But I was stupid_. Young, stupid and naïve, when Hess came along and wormed her way inside his fences and alarms. He'd fallen for it, because he wanted a little sister again, and knew it wouldn't be fair to impose on Elizabeth. And then Jon, following the tunnel that Hess had already dug, falling for the con that was (then) Lieutenant 'Trip' Tucker. _God, Jon, you should have seen_. But Jon didn't know the prison rules, so he couldn't figure it out from Trip's behaviour. Ready to fight, but backing right off when authority commanded. Because you always fought to defend your territory, your space, your authority, but you never messed with those who were bigger, stronger and nastier than you. Except… how could have Jon missed the flinches, those automatic tenses as Trip waited for the first blow to land? _Every time someone gets mad…_ That had been one of the hardest things to adjust to: the fact that violence wasn't what most people defaulted to; that every time someone screamed, it didn't have to mean that they were going to hit you.

_I never should have lost that_. If he hadn't, maybe he would have seen this hit coming. Next time, though… the next bastard that tried to hit him was going to get it. With certain exceptions, of course. _Nicci could probably beat the crap out of me and I wouldn't fight back_, mostly because Hess never would. _And James_. He chewed the inside of his lip as he admitted the truth to himself. He could never fight back against James. James was _the_ man in charge.

He heard a cough, and squeezed his eyes tighter, suppressing a gasp at the pain. _No, not now. No._

"Captain," Malcolm sounded concerned, though mostly for his captain.

"I think I'm outside of a hundred feet." Jon sounded bitter. "And I'm not talking to _him_, either."

_That's me_. The man with no name, no identity. A name meant dignity, worth. But Trip had neither of those. _110921683_. That was who he was, or at least who he'd been for four years. A number in a system. A faceless entity. _Better that way._

Jon dropped his voice so Trip couldn't hear clearly. One or two words slipped through, but not much. Words like 'danger' and 'trust.' Words like 'lied to me.'

_I'm sorry, Jon. I didn't think you'd like the truth._ That was the other thing. He didn't do well on his own, either. There'd always been someone else there: parents, a brother, a cell-mate… and then suddenly he was on his own. And then there was Nicci, and Jon, and he clung to them like they were driftwood and he was drowning. Except people _weren't_ like driftwood… driftwood didn't walk away if they found out nasty things about you.

_I'm not staying here, though_. He didn't dare, not with James running around free. Here, and hurt… there was no way to save himself or anybody else. He was a sitting duck. _So I ain't gonna stay sitting._ James liked a challenge, and by distracting him, Trip could keep people like Malcolm and Hess from getting caught in those claws. _And he'll shred you_. Hess liked to think she was tough, but the truth was, she was as emotionally resilient as whipped cream in a cup of coffee. If James had managed to learn anything about her, he'd never take her on physically. He'd hit her where it hurt instead which would mean…

_No._ That wasn't going to happen, not again. James _had_ killed the neighbour's dog, Trip had found the pieces. And like Malcolm had pointed out, Hess loved those animals more than anything.

Silently, he began an inventory. Malcolm had taken away most things – including his shoelaces – but had blessedly left his boots otherwise intact. None of his teeth were broken, that was a good thing, because teeth could be more useful than people guessed when it came to an escape. The blow to the ribs hadn't been that hard, because they didn't even seem to be bruised. Which meant the only damage was to his eye. _Good_. It was his right eye anyway, and his dominant eye was his left. _Not too bright for an armoury officer, Mal_. Then again, there was only so much Malcolm could reasonably pull off. Any more, and it would be questionable whether he'd be wearing a hospital gown or a lawsuit.

He waited until Malcolm left, then pulled one of his boots off and began picking and chewing at the threads that held the leather over the frame. _Too bad, these were good boots_. The best boots, really – Hess had given them to him as a birthday present. They were custom-made and designed to withstand anything an engineer could throw at them. _Which is a hell of a lot_. They were also comfortable as hell – far more comfortable than Starfleet issue. _Damn, damn, double, triple damn._

But what they also had was a hell of a lot of little metal strips. Steel toe wasn't enough for these babies, they had a flexible shock-absorbing cage and wiring for the in-sole electromagnets. To an engineer, that translated into a mini-toolkit. _Give an engineer a tool-kit_… Especially when that engineer knew the specifications of the pen that held him.

(_dds_)

"I don't know how this happened, Sir." Jimmy had to give this Malcolm guy credit: he kept his face absolutely blank the entire time, even though it was his failure that created this empty cell. What was he thinking, leaving an ex-con without guards? Didn't he know that anyone who'd been Inside automatically had escape plans?

Well, it was a nearly empty cell. The weird looking engineer crouched inside, letting loose a string of profanity that would out-do even Big-Brother. "Stupid, fucking idiot," she muttered again.

Jon smirked and Jimmy couldn't help but feel a little bit of satisfaction. _Even the blind are beginning to see._

"Lieutenant?" Malcolm stepped into the cell with her and began looking at whatever had caught her attention.

"Where the hell am I going to get him another pair of boots out here? You don't just buy these things off the shelf, you know. And even if I ordered him replacements, we'd never be able to get them, because by the time a cargo ship caught up with us…"

Beside Jimmy, Jon rolled his eyes. "Lieutenant, most of us have bigger concerns than the fact that Commander Tucker is barefoot. The least of his troubles right now is the fact that his toes are exposed."

"Considering that, Sir, I'd be more concerned about us." Lieutenant Hess shot back, dryly. "You've obviously never had a close encounter. He's the first person I ever insisted keep his shoes _on_ inside my house." Then she seemed to remember who she was talking to and shut up.

"I thought you said he hit her or somethin'," Jimmy said quietly. This girl didn't seem like the type to take that sort of thing.

"Apparently that's not as bad as his feet." Jon's tone was as dry as Hess' had been. "I said she was intelligent, I never said she was smart." He also sounded on edge.

Hess straightened up and looked straight out the door at Jon. "You know what the difference between Commander Tucker and you is, Sir? When he commits a crime, he's got the guts to admit it."

"That sounds like insubordination, Lieutenant." Jon's eyes narrowed. No, he didn't have much patience for this girl at all.

"Charge me. I know some very good lawyers, Sir. By the time it gets to trial, you'll be too senile to testify." Jimmy could swear that her teeth were ready to start chattering, like some inbred poodle before it bit you.

Malcolm laid a hand on her shoulder and spoke softly in her ear. Jimmy caught one or two words, but they didn't sound like English. They distracted her though: she got an irritated look on her face then turned away.

"I am not a…" Jon didn't seem willing to let it go, though.

"You've just never been charged." She spun around and again it seemed like the security guy was the only thing stopping a fight.

_I thought Starfleet was big on discipline._ Then again, maybe being friends with your boss bought special favour. And it wasn't like Big-Brother had a whole lot of spine. _He'd come apart against her like a cookie in a cup of coffee_.

"I…" Jimmy didn't have any trouble sounding confused.

"Ask him how this engine even got out of the prototype stage," Hess snarled. "Where I'm from they call it 'Grand Theft.'"

Jon looked uncomfortable. "Starfleet didn't see it that way."

"No, because you were Daddy's boy."

"That's enough!" Now Jon snapped. "Get her out of here, Mr. Reed. Confine her to her quarters and I suggest you post a guard."

"Yes, Sir." Malcolm half-pulled, half-coaxed the girl out into the hall.

"Your brother is the only thing that stopped me from doing that a long time ago." Jon tapped his fingers against his leg, agitated. "Now…"

_Hmmn_. Something to keep in mind there. "That close, huh?"

Jon shook his head. "Sometimes I used to think they were separated at birth. The stunts they'd get up to… Of course, I didn't realise that he already _had_…"

Jimmy laughed. "Yeah. He was always doing crazy things. Like the time he dismantled the garbage disposal 'to see how it worked.' We never did find all the circuits. Then he wondered why Mom and Dad never believed him when he said that _I_ was the one who broke things."

Jon looked a little distracted for a moment. "Really."

"Hey. I'm not saying I _didn't_ break things… Mom and Dad just usually defaulted to Trip, because he was the one usually doing it."

Jon smiled. "Now, _that_ I can see. I swear he's not happy unless he has something lying around in pieces. Once we went a week without anything going wrong or breaking down and he was the most miserable person to work with that you've ever seen. I think he broke the air-recyclers on purpose, just to have something to fix."

"That's my Big-Brother. He never could just let things be. No patience whatsoever." Jimmy cast a sly look at Jon. "So… how _did_ the engine get out of prototype stage?"

"Long story," Jon answered him. "And unfortunately, it's classified."

Jimmy laughed. Oh well, he'd find out sooner or later.

"But I'll tell you what I can." Jon gestured for Jimmy to lead the way and they left the prison area behind.

_Why'd you leave, brother? Remind you too much of the old days?_

(_dds_)

_Damnit, Nicci, why'd you do that?_ Trip watched on the monitor as Hess blew up at Jon and Malcolm pulled her into the corridor. The girl couldn't go two seconds without getting herself in trouble and it was usually over him.

"Come on, guys." He scooped up Evil Thing and tucked him into his carrying-cage. The ginger cat chewed lightly on Trip's finger for a moment then settled down as Trip closed the door.

"You too, monster." Igor looked at him questioningly, but didn't protest. They trusted him; his only fear was that they might trust James as well.

_You guys have been hurt enough_. There was no way he was going to let James get anywhere near them. He wrote a quick note and left it on the desk.

_I've got the kids. Don't worry about them. I just don't want them getting hurt._ The animals were like children to Hess. If James wanted to get her, this would be the quickest way. It wouldn't take him long to figure that out, either. And while it would be a huge mistake – Jon's biggest soft-spot was animals – Trip wasn't going to let them be sacrifices. _That's not the way I play_. It might be James' game, but he wasn't James.

Picking up the cases, he moved quickly. It wouldn't be long before Security came looking for him – even if he wasn't charged with anything, he was still in trouble. And if Malcolm was bringing Hess back here then Trip needed to be long-gone by the time they arrived. _After all, this is essentially a kidnapping._ Evil Thing might be his cat _technically_, but he'd granted custody to Hess from the beginning. And the rabbit was all hers. While she could defend herself, they couldn't. _I'm just not taking any chances anymore_. Not with the lives of others. Hadn't he learned that the first time? That James couldn't be stopped?

One thing about being chief engineer – he knew some good hiding places. He tucked the animals into one and gave them some food and water. Evil Thing nuzzled up against him, possibly sensing that Trip needed comfort, but more likely seeking comfort of his own.

"It's okay, pal. I'll be back soon." He scratched the cat behind the ears, feeling tears burning at his eyes. They had no idea what was going on, all they knew was that Trip had taken them from their familiar quarters and brought them to this much smaller cubby-hole. He felt like a traitor… he felt like he did the day they took the dog in to be put down. He hadn't understood, either, just kept looking at Trip with those big brown eyes until he stopped breathing. "It's only for a while, okay? Then you'll be back home with Mommy and everything will be okay."

Evil Thing 'brrrped' and head butted him.

"I wonder what Jon would say if he knew the truth about you." According to an old girlfriend, there really _were_ cat people and dog people. Jon was definitely a dog person, even if you eliminated Porthos. He gave an order and expected obedience. He wanted his people to follow him.

_But I like cats_. You'd never get obedience from a cat – maybe that was why he had so much patience for Hess and Jon didn't. Cat people learned to accept independence and a certain measure of wackiness. _Especially when your cat has thumbs._ There was a fancy word for it, Hess had told him what it was once, but it essentially came down to thumbs. Evil Thing used them like thumbs, too, picking up things with his paws, often as a prelude to hiding it. Somewhere, he had a small tool collection to rival Trip's own. You didn't order cats, you realised that they were guided by enlightened self-interest and tailored your requests to suit that.

That was probably why that relationship had broken up – Sandy had been a dog-person through and through, right down to the yappy little Shi Tzu that used to maul his ankle. Their last fight had run along the lines of 'You don't listen to me,' with Trip trying to explain that just because he didn't do like she asked didn't mean he wasn't listening. Finally, he did do what she said and stopped listening, completely tuning her out and refusing to fight. That made her even madder and ended with Trip's belongings strewn all over the courtyard of her apartment building. Fortunately, he hadn't moved much in at that point, though his stereo took a beating on the landing.

Sighing, Trip left them behind and got back to the serious task of playing bait. He found himself an out-of-the-way console and booted up the links to the security cameras. Idly, he wondered how Malcolm would react if he realised how much time Trip spent using those precious safety devices as a personal spy network. _Probably not that well once he realises I've spied on him_. While there wasn't a camera in Hess' room, there was an intercom linked to the doorbell.

_Don't be doing anything I don't want to know about_. It would be his luck for them to figure out their mutual attraction just at the moment he decided to listen.

"Kids?" Malcolm's voice and the incredulity in it came through loud and clear.

"Well, it's quicker than saying 'cat and rabbit' every time, or calling them by name." Hess sounded agitated, despite the note. "I mean… that way I know _he_ took them, but that doesn't make it any better. _Why_ would he take them, Malcolm? What could he possibly be thinking?"

_That I know my brother better than you do_. After all, if there were cat people and dog people… couldn't there also be crocodile people as well? People for whom it meant nothing to snap another creature in two? That was James in a nutshell. _We're not even the same species_.

"It seems pretty clear from his note that he was concerned about their welfare. Given what he told me about his childhood, I can't say as I blame him." Malcolm seemed to be adjusting to the idea of pets as children.

"I believe Captain Archer is looking for you."

Trip jumped at the sound of a voice behind him. _Damn you_. Now _there_ was someone with the attributes of a cat: independent, stubborn and so quiet you never heard her sneaking up on you. "T'Pol."

"Commander. The captain mentioned concern that you were not in Sickbay."

"He probably mentioned concern that I'm not in restraints," Trip muttered. "So… you're just out looking for me? Ready to haul me back?"

"There are a great many rumours concerning…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Trip rolled his eyes. "Okay. I was in on an armed robbery. I shot and killed someone, then I turned State's Evidence and got a deal, and James was the one who got nailed big-time. Happy now? You know all about me… my dirty little secret. I'm a violent felon with a temper problem and no loyalty whatsoever."

T'Pol stared at him calmly. "I see. And that is all?"

All? Of course it wasn't. "Nobody could understand. Not even you." She was a Vulcan, Vulcans didn't get so terrified that they couldn't even breathe. "Especially not you."

"I understand that your relationship with your brother is… strained."

Trip laughed, feeling himself on the edge of hysteria. _Strained_? "Yeah. Or didn't you just catch the part about me sending him to jail for the rest of his life?" _Malcolm_ couldn't make an understatement like that.

"I agree with Captain Archer in that there is reason to be concerned about your welfare." T'Pol studied Trip's face intently. "You seem to be under a great deal of stress…"

"Jon just wants me locked up so I don't mess up anybody else," Trip stated emphatically. "He already buys me as the big, bad villain and is probably scared that I'll blow up the Warp Engine or something."

"I do not believe that judgement does Captain Archer justice…"

"I've known Jon a hell of a lot longer than you have," Trip snapped. "This isn't the type of thing he forgives. As far as he's concerned, he doesn't even know me. And from what he's learned, he doesn't _want_ to know me. Jon likes… Jon likes good people. He didn't just pick this crew because we're the best engineers and pilots and armoury staff – okay, maybe Hoshi's the best linguist you'll ever find – but because we're also _decent_ people… or at least that's what he thought. We're supposed to be the best ambassadors for Earth. What I've done kind of excludes me from that definition."

"Commander…"

"Don't. I've already resigned my post. If you've got an engineering problem, go talk to Hess – she's in her quarters – or Rostov. Either one of them can help you out. In the meantime, I don't feel like standing around and talking." He pushed his way past her, feeling like shit. _How many more people can I hurt in one day?_ He didn't want to know the answer to that. _Way, way, way too many_.


	6. Truth and Justice

**Disclaimer**: I own neither _Enterprise_ nor its characters, or there would be some significant differences from the current situation. I make no money from this.

**Author's Note**: Yes, this is the last chapter of this one, and thanks to my great beta-readers. But just because Paramount gave up on these characters doesn't mean that I have.

**Chapter 5: Truth and Justice  
**

Jon woke and froze, realising that what woke him was the hiss of the door. _Someone's here_. He hit the lights, gearing up to blast the hell out of whoever had the idiotic stupidity to sneak in. Light revealed an empty room; the only other occupant was Porthos, curled up at the foot of the bed.

"What's going on, pal?"

The beagle stirred and looked at him, quizzically.

_Had_ someone entered? Wouldn't Porthos have woken up and sounded an alarm like he always did? Maybe it was a dream, maybe he was just stressed, imagining something. Except… something didn't seem right, something was out of place. He scanned the room more carefully, his gaze alighting on the desk. A padd lay out of place – he was sure he put them all back in the drawer.

Getting up, he ventured over and picked up the device. It was clean, devoid of even the usual fingerprints that marred every padd ever used. It was _polished_, as though whoever had brought it didn't want to be identified.

_Smart_. He spotted something else. _Maybe not smart enough_. A short blond hair lay on the floor; the intruder left a piece of themselves behind.

He switched on the padd and nearly dropped it when he caught sight of the contents. _State v. Tucker_. Court transcripts of the trial, curiouser and curiouser. As he read, his mouth hardened into a tight line. _Any more lies you want to try telling me?_

(_dds_)

_What a guy_. Reality wise, this wasn't a big ship, but somehow Big-Brother had managed to completely disappear and from the sound of things left a shipload of disaster behind him. You had to hand it to the guy – he could certainly accomplish things.

"'Cept you shouldn't abandon family like that." Jimmy shook his head, sadly. Trip shouldn't be on his own; he was no good at it. He needed someone looking after him. Otherwise, he was prone to doing all sorts of crazy things.

And that chick with the hair… what had the captain called her again? Hess? 'Pest' was more like it. Just who did she think she was, getting a restraining order that said Jimmy couldn't see his own brother? _Lawyers_. Not even scum of the earth, because at least scum had redeeming qualities.

"Bitch." He picked up one of Trip's pictures and stared at it for a while. A whole group of them standing together, Trip and the mutant freak prominently front-and-centre. Grinning like idiots over something or other. From the way people talked, Trip treated her like a little sister or something. Bastard hadn't even bothered to stick around for Elizabeth's funeral, even though Mom and Dad waited until Trip got back, and now Jimmy knew why. This little slut, with her little kid's face and that honey-sweet voice, stole Trip away from his own family. Probably had him brainwashed or something.

"You should really learn some manners." Girl had a big mouth; he remembered that from down in the brig. Yappin' away about any and everything. Stupid cunt lawyer with her fancy degree, acting like going to two schools meant she knew everything.

He sat down at Trip's computer and pulled up a crew roster. Captain had said to confine her to quarters, meaning Jimmy had a pretty good idea where she might be right now. _Just find out where that is_… Then he'd just have to wander by and see if there was a guard like the Captain asked for.

He opened her personnel file and frowned. Apparently, Jon hadn't been kidding when he said the bitch beat up on MACOs for practice. _Family full of cops and lawyers_. Wasn't that what they said? Well, those brothers weren't here, and he had advantages those MACO boys didn't. Girl like her shoulda known better anyway. What mighta her brothers done if someone tried to take _her_ away from family? _She_ was the one that broke with the code, profaned that which anyone held sacred.

As for that skinny security guy she was probably doing – that guy probably was grateful for any woman who'd have him – Jimmy could handle him without even having to try. Not that he expected to have to; he planned to avoid confrontation as much as possible.

He smiled, tracing a finger across her file photo, the first time he'd seen her without her hair gone wild. She looked normal… kinda cute if you went for the elfin look, almost fragile. She didn't look old enough to be a Starfleet engineer, or a lawyer, let alone both. Why she had to go ugly herself up made no sense at all. _Crazy_. Jon seemed to agree with that.

She wasn't going to stay pretty, though. What he had in mind would take care of that problem for her, permanently.

_Lesson needs to be learned._ Nobody screwed with Jimmy's family. If you didn't look after your family, you weren't worth nothin'. Trip would understand, once Jimmy had a chance to set him straight, to undo the damage that had been done to him.

_Lawyers_. The trouble started with the lawyers, cunt lawyers like Trip had last time, telling him to cut a deal, telling him to betray his family. It had to be that bitch that did that… Trip would never have done it on his own.

'Cept he'd been on his own, and that was the problem. That _was_ how they brainwashed you, wasn't it? Separated you from your family, from the people who really cared about you, fed you the same message over and over, 'bout how they knew what was best for you? Trip wasn't strong and he was easily confused. "I gotta get you back, Brother. For your own good. We're _family_, Brother. You an' me. Inseparable." People used to say that all the time about them. _Inseparable_. Even in school, if they weren't in class, they hung out together. People thought it was nice, Trip looking after his little brother and letting him tag along, even though _Trip_ was the tag-along. But Jimmy didn't care, because Trip was his brother and brothers stuck together. Even then, if you messed with one, you were messing with both.

Jimmy turned off the console. One nice thing: Trip had a lot of tools right here in his quarters. He wouldn't have to go searching and asking before he could build the things he needed to make that bitch pay.

No guard, that was good. It seemed like Jon's authority wasn't as all-encompassing as the man liked to think it was. It suited Jimmy though, meant one less person to have to talk to.

* * *

He disabled the lock and stepped inside as soon as the door opened. Despite the hour, the lights were on and the girl was up. Not in uniform, though, and her civvies looked as mismatched as the rest of her. Short skirt paired up with clunky boots and she had on about three different shirts, all with different sleeve-lengths and materials.

"Hey. I've been worried about you." She crossed the floor quickly, looking all concerned. She stopped at the last second though, as though sensing something was up.

_Too late._ He swung his weapon around, but the chick was fast, moving _inside_ the range. Before she could touch him though, he struck, his homemade stunner working perfectly, sending a jolt of current into her system that dropped her instantly.

He bent down and checked her pulse. Out cold, but still alive. _Good_. He wanted her alive, he wanted her to suffer for what she'd done.

He pulled out a coil of wire he'd found in Trip's quarters and bound her hands and her feet then taped her mouth shut. He wanted to get her somewhere safe, before he let her start screaming.

"And you're going to scream." He opened the large duffle from Trip's closet – an old equipment bag or something. He had to fold her slightly to get her in, but not tight enough to have to break any bones. Girl wasn't even five feet, though she was heavier than she looked.

No one paid attention to a man walking down a corridor and carrying a bag. It was too normal a thing to take notice of – Jimmy learned that listening to guys bitch on the Inside. Anomalies, that's what people noticed. Weird stuff.

He carried her back to Trip's quarters, dropping her roughly on the ground while he turned to scramble the codes on the lock and disable the intercom so no one could turn it on and listen in. People did that sometimes, but he wanted this to be a private thing, just the two of them.

Kneeling down, he unzipped the bag. She still wasn't moving. He reached in to pick her up and jerked back as she suddenly grabbed his wrist in her hands, digging her poor excuses for nails deep as she could into his flesh.

He smacked her hard, open hand but enough to hurt. "Behave yourself, bitch."

Fear flashed in her eyes but quickly died, as though she knew that was what he wanted and she was too stubborn to give it to him. She'd give it, though. Before he was done she'd be begging him, crying.

He looped a piece of wire around her neck and connected it to the bonds on her feet. Her eyes widened as she realised what it meant. She went perfectly still; struggling would only mean strangling herself. He didn't think she'd do that, not at this stage in the game. Everything everybody said about this girl said she was a fighter. That was okay, because Jimmy liked to fight.

He picked her up and carried her over to the bed. Fear raced across her features again and hid behind defiance. He sat down beside her and ran a finger over her face. Such delicate bone structure, so easy to smash. She stiffened and tried to pull away, but there was nowhere for her to go.

"You took my brother away. That was wrong."

She looked like she wanted to say something, so he reached down and ripped the tape away from her mouth, pulling some of her skin with it. Blood stained her lips like makeup, bright, wet and inviting. "You did it yourself, asshole. He's got brains, he knows what you are."

"I'm his brother!" He hit her again, and the mattress bounced as the impact ran through her. He moved in closer, his face right up next to hers. "I'm his _brother_. You're nothing. And he'll see that." She smelled good, just a hint of vanilla, making him hungry. He kissed her, unsure which he enjoyed more: the salt-taste of her blood or the stiff resistance of her revulsion. He felt himself getting hard. He hadn't considered this as an option, not really – it was more of a pleasant diversion. She was helpless, just the way he liked them.

He ran his finger over her collarbone then dipped it lower, under the neckline of her halter-top. She shook but didn't otherwise move, trapped by the wall and the wire.

He kissed her again, but this time she reacted, trapping his lip between her teeth and biting down hard.

"_Bitch!_" He punched her in the mouth, felt those teeth give. "I am in charge here." He punched her again, with each word.

She gasped but didn't scream. Her eyes grew fierce, as though she thought she could threaten him. He could see her twisting her hands behind her back, trying to slip through the wire, but he'd wrapped it tight and it was sunk into her flesh with no room to expand. He reached for his waistband.

The door hissed open, and Jimmy looked up, startled and angry, his anger disappearing when he saw who it was. "Big-Brother. Hey. Get in here."

(_dds_)

_Where the hell is he?_ James should have come looking by now, seeking out the out-of-the-way corners where Trip might hide. He pulled the padd he'd pilfered out of his pocket and used it to tap into the security monitors, working slowly, one camera at a time. No James, but…

Trip tried to swallow, but his mouth dried and he felt his chest constrict. There was a security team outside Hess' quarters and…

He killed the video, tapped into the comm.

"_Find_ her, gentlemen. I want to talk to her." Jon's voice; he didn't sound happy.

_Oh, God, Nicci, no._ She had a habit of sneaking out when she was confined to quarters, but somehow he didn't think that was the case this time. If James hadn't come for him…

He felt himself begin to panic. James could be anywhere… it was a big ship, he'd never find them…

_Get ahold of yourself, Trip_. Funny, but the words came with Jon's voice, the voice that got through no matter what the level of panic – back in the good old days of friendship. "You're right." He had to stop and think. He'd learned that… Jon had taught him. He wondered if Jon knew that, knew that despite everything he still considered Jon more than a friend, but a mentor… a hero. Jon would probably be disgusted at that fact, really.

"Think, Trip." James… James didn't think. James was impulsive, he wasn't a planner. He _thought_ he was a planner but he never took details into account, never credited other people with intelligence. So where would he take her, where would he feel safe in doing whatever he had planned?

_His quarters_. No… someone might go looking for him, and go there. "_My_ quarters." Trip started to run, knowing that had to be it. It would make perfect sense to James – Trip's territory was fair game for James, always had been.

The door refused to respond to his code – James must have scrambled the lock. Trip didn't even bother to swear, just yanked the panel from the wall and hotwired the door. It slid open and the first thing he saw was his duffle lying open in the middle of the floor. He stared at it for a long second wondering what it was doing there. He forced his eyes to move. Hess lay on his bunk, bound and beaten. James lay beside and it didn't take a genius to figure out his plans.

_You son-of-a-bitch_. Rage bubbled up, overwhelming panic.

"Big-Brother. Hey. Get in here." James smiled and stood up, not afraid in the least. Of course he wasn't. Trip wasn't a threat, never had been.

Trip moved sideways, putting himself between James and Hess. How many times had she done the same thing for him? Shielding him from trouble, no matter what the risk to herself. _Look after me and I'll look after you_. All these years, she'd never asked for the payback, never once asked for him to make up for all the times she'd been a shoulder to cry on or someone to laugh with. He _owed_ her and it didn't matter what it cost. "Get out of here, get the fuck away from her."

James didn't listen… of course he didn't. He stepped closer with that look on his face, the one that said Trip was being stupid and James would do what he wanted. Trip dropped his head and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Trip." James took his brother's face in both hands lifting it up to look him straight in the eye. "Listen to me. You're my brother. We're family. Do you understand that?"

Trip nodded.

"She tried to take you away… I know she did. I had to show her, Trip. I had to show her that you don't mess with us. You understand that, don't you?"

Trip nodded again.

James smiled. "Good. I knew you would."

Trip struck, smashing his fist into his brother's temple, the barbs of his old rings digging into the thin flesh and opening it up. His other hand caught James on the chin, for the same combination of impact and blood. James was too shocked to react, never expecting the mouse to turn vicious.

Trip landed some more shots, concentrating on the face. Blood ran into James' eyes, blinding him. He tried to fight back but Trip was too angry to notice the blows. He slammed his fist hard into James' eye and James screamed, blood now mixing with something else from a punctured eyeball. He heard more yelling and ignored it. Only one thing mattered: punishing James.

Arms grabbed him and pulled him away from his target. Security had arrived, too late to be any good. He didn't bother to resist as they fastened the restraints, just turned pleading eyes to Malcolm. "Don't put them in Sickbay together… please; just get her out of…"

Malcolm's face was unreadable. "I will. It's okay."

They started to take him away. "Malcolm." He twisted, turned back. "They're in a storage locker. 308. Make sure…"

"308." Malcolm repeated. "Okay. It's going to be okay."

Trip let himself be led away. What happened now, didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

* * *

He wondered if he should do it. It wouldn't be hard, just take the panel off and…

"I hope you're not trying to escape again."

Trip jumped, spinning around in the cell to face Malcolm. "I…"

"Phlox says she'll need some reconstructive surgery, but she'll be okay." Malcolm opened the door to the cell and stepped inside. He held a case in one hand, setting it down on the floor as the door closed behind him. "I didn't think you should be alone right now, though." He opened the door of the case and Evil Thing jumped out, running over to Trip and begging to be picked up.

Trip scooped the cat up and stared at his friend. "You didn't… I mean…"

"I have things to do." Malcolm picked up the carrying case again and backed out of the cell. "So I'll leave him to keep an eye on you. Don't do anything that will leave him traumatised. And don't say anything to _anybody_ about this." Malcolm smiled, an odd, twisted smile. "She'd tell you the same thing."

Trip nodded, Evil Thing's purring sending comforting vibrations into his chest. He let the warmth of the cat's body soothe him as much as it could. Hess was safe… James would never touch her again. Maybe too, people would see.

* * *

He wasn't sure how long it was, maybe hours, maybe minutes. The outside door opened again. It wasn't Malcolm, though. "Jon."

"Tell me a story, Trip." Jon wore his 'don't argue with me' face. Even if he'd wanted to, Trip couldn't. But he didn't want to. _Look after me…_ Too many years of friendship were in that face.

"What do you want to know?" He turned his eyes away, unable to hold Jon's gaze. Evil Thing now lay draped across his shoulders, chewing comfortingly on one of Trip's ears, a living security blanket. _Living. Alive._ The weight on his shoulders meant almost nothing compared to the weight on his heart.

"I want to know what happened. And this time, I don't want the abridged version." An odd look crossed Jon's face, an almost wry, bitter smile. "Don't worry… I have it on good authority that you can't be tried for the same crime twice."

Trip sighed. So it was that story then. He stared off into the distance. Into memory.

(_dds_)

"I don't want to do this, James. It's crazy." Someone was going to get hurt. Trip knew it. Someone always got hurt with James around.

James shrugged. "Okay. We don't need you anyway." He turned his back on Trip pulled something out of his backpack. Here in the safety of their room, James didn't worry about anything. Mom and Dad respected privacy, especially for a pair of growing teens.

_I don't want to know._ Trip forced himself to focus on his schoolwork. He had a physics test next week and he didn't want to blow it. Most of this was math anyway and Math was his worst subject. Trying to memorise all those formulas and figure out which variable was supposed to be x and which y… It _really_ wasn't easy with James in the room. But he'd already failed one semester, he wasn't going to do it again.

_Those stupid fires_. It started with a stolen car, torched on a back road, but James could never be satisfied. He kept getting bolder and bolder, and more careless. Then Trip had opened his locker one day to find matches and a bottle of accelerant. _Framed by my own brother_. He'd disposed of them, begged James to stop. And now…

He heard a click behind him, metal on metal. "I wonder if this thing still works."

He couldn't help it. He turned around and found himself facing an antique handgun, polished and gleaming. James had it pointed at his brother's chest. "What… what is that for?" He didn't want to know, but couldn't keep the images of a projectile smashing into his chest, ripping and its way though flesh and blood vessels, he couldn't keep those images out of his mind.

"What do you think?" James sounded almost cheerful. He probably had the same images in his mind.

"Look." Trip tried to think of a way to talk James out of this crazy plan, and knew there was nothing. "I'll… I'll help. Can I see that?" Maybe he could find a way to disable it, render it into nothing more than a club.

"No." James suddenly clutched the gun close, smiling slyly. "It's mine. I'll keep it." He laughed a bit. "Nice try, though. You're so soft, brother. Always worrying. Worry, worry, worry. You're going to die of worry."

_Somebody has to._ James didn't. James never worried about anything. He just lied and manipulated his way out of the consequences. Making Trip look crazy as he did it.

"Do you have a plan?" A stupid question. James never had a plan.

"Well, we're going in, we're gonna take what we want and get out of there." As if anything could be that simple, though in James' mind it always was.

"What about security?" Trip asked.

James stared at him as though he'd started speaking another language. He probably had – the language of common sense. "There's no…"

"Cameras, scanners, alarms? Of course there are." Why couldn't James see how stupid this was?

"So?"

"Why… why don't you just forget it? There's got to be…"

"Okay. I'll forget it." The answer came too quick to be believable, but Trip didn't fight. He returned to his homework, hoping for a miracle.

Trip woke up to the weight of James sitting on his chest. James leaned over and placed his arm across Trip's throat. "I want you to help me with it. You know all about cameras and scanners… you know all about things like that."

"James…"

James bounced slightly, sending a jolt of pain through Trip's chest. "I _want_ you to do it."

"I'm…" Trip gasped for breath, lights flashing in his vision.

James reached up and pulled the gun out from under his mattress and placed the barrel against Trip's face, just under his eye.

"I want you to do it, Trip. I don't need you to. Do you understand that? If I kill you, what happens to Lizzie? Because I won't have my brother to play with anymore."

"Okay." His voice came out a bare whisper, his attention focused on the cold metal that promised to destroy him if he didn't agree. Lizzie didn't deserve James' attention. She'd done nothing to earn that kind of hell.

James nodded. "Say it."

"You're better."

"Again."

"You're better."

"Again."

"You're better."

"Right." James grabbed Trip's hair and pulled it hard. "I'm better and you have to look after me, because you're the big brother. You promised Mom and Dad you'd look after me and not let me get hurt. Remember that. So think up a plan, Big-Brother." James smiled. "This is going to be so much fun."

* * *

_Oh, God, help me. I don't want to…_ Trip choked down bile, feeling it burn his throat, tears stinging at his eye. James played with the gun and the light in his eyes was scarier than even the thought of getting caught.

"James… let me take it, please. There… there's a lot of recoil on those… I did some reading." He didn't want the gun, but he knew it would be worse in James' hands.

"You're going to chicken out on me, aren't you?" James accused. "I _said_ you're doing this. What don't you understand?"

"I'm doing it, I'm doing it. I… I'm just trying to look after you, that's all."

The other two watched disinterestedly. They were in this for the thrill and for the money… they didn't care about who carried the gun. Trip wasn't even sure if they'd stick with the plan. He wasn't even sure James would stick with the plan – after all, the plan called for nobody to get hurt.

James shoved the gun at his brother. "Take it, then. But don't you dare chicken out on me."

"I won't." The gun was heavier than Trip expected. He tried to see a way to disable it, but James hit him.

"Let's go. Come on."

Trip nodded and pulled the mask down over his face, while the others did the same. He reached into his pocket and took out a small box, throwing a switch on the side. "Okay, scrambler's on." He tucked the device back into his pocket and said a prayer to anyone who might listen. Then it was too late.

They burst into the liquor store, James and the other two yelling at the top of their lungs, telling the clerk to open the till, grabbing some bottles and smashing others. Trip froze, watching the clerk reach under the counter to hit an alarm that wouldn't be heard, not with the scrambler running. James jumped up on the counter and grabbed the money and they started to back towards the door.

Suddenly, the clerk charged them, screaming. Trip panicked, his gun hand coming up automatically. He didn't even feel his finger tighten on the trigger before the weapon jerked in his hand. The clerk was too close to miss, he was knocked backwards in a spray of red, screaming even louder now.

"Ohmigod!" Trip dropped the gun as the others fled. He stared for a moment then rushed forward, pressing his hands against the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. "Hang on… ohmigod." He had to do something… anything. There was a comm panel behind the register. He raced over and hit the emergency button. Nothing happened and he remembered the scrambler. He fumbled with it, finally turning it off. He hit the button again then headed back to the clerk, trying again to stop the bleeding.

Hands grabbed his shoulder, pulling him away. "Come _on._ Let's get out of here. _Now._" James pulled harder. Trip could see his eyes through the mask and they gleamed.

"We should help him… He's gonna…"

"He's stupid. Let's _go_. Come _on._" James picked up the gun and pointed it at Trip. "Don't you be stupid too."

Trip ran, knowing James would be happy to shoot him, knowing he couldn't win. Hopefully… hopefully the emergency people would get there fast, but the guy didn't look good. He knew the truth, better than he knew his own name. _I just killed somebody_.

(_dds_)

"It took three days before I had the guts to go to the cops." Trip's hands shook and tears ran down his face. "I was the only witness they had, so they cut me a deal… I was the only one willing to talk. 'Cause I turned myself in… I confessed. I… I didn't want a deal… my lawyer said I should."

"Why the hell didn't you tell me this in the first place?" Jon snapped.

"When I got out, I wanted to start over… I didn't want to… I just wanted to have a life."

"I mean, why'd you give me the edited version when I asked?" Jon stood in front of the door, his arms crossed over his chest. He uncrossed them and held up a padd. "You're just damn lucky you've got friends like the ones you do."

Trip stared at the small screen, reading the words from years ago. Truth, testimony and judgement, preserved forever in public record. Not _his_ case – James'. Tried in adult court, a fourteen-year-old criminal mastermind. "How… why?"

"How do you think?" Jon re-crossed his arms and glared. "The point is, you should have told me. You should have _trusted _me."

"I know." Trip lifted the cat off his shoulders and hugged him like a teddy-bear. Evil Thing didn't protest, instead he purred louder as though he knew Trip needed the comfort. "I just know… you're a good person, Jon. Probably the best one I know. I was so scared to lose you as a friend, and then when you found out…" He fought to control his voice, to keep it from shaking. "…I did. I didn't think you needed to hear a bunch of excuses…"

"No." Jon agreed. "But it would have been nice to know the details. It would have been nice to have been given a chance to understand."

"I'm sorry." Trip sat down on the bunk, his shoulders bowing. He didn't have the strength to stand anymore.

Jon punched the controls and the door slid open. Trip looked up in surprise.

"Apparently, for a weapon's charge, we need a weapon. As for the assault… witnesses aren't talking." Jon's tone became dry.

Trip clearly remembered surrendering the rings to Malcolm, so… "James…" Surely James had jumped at the chance to point the finger at Trip.

"Your brother had an accident." Jon's face betrayed nothing. "Phlox doesn't think he'll be able to walk again."

"An…" Trip flashed to Malcolm's face, carefully controlled as he took in the scene in Trip's quarters. _"I expressed my displeasure in no uncertain terms."_ "Okay." After all, maybe it was an accident. "He…"

"He's trying to say that Malcolm tried to kill him, but I find that rather difficult to believe." There was no irony in Jon's voice, nothing in his face. "Malcolm's an exemplary officer. Your brother, on the other hand, has quite a history of lies."

"He does." Trip didn't bother saying more – he wasn't sure what he was skating on, probably still quite thin ice. Besides, given the choice, he'd support the justice of one of Malcolm's lies to the heartbreak of James' truths.

Jon stared at Trip for a long while, then shook his head. "Why didn't you just say something?"

"I was scared you wouldn't believe me. Nobody ever did. James made people believe and…"

"…and when you say it, it sounds crazy." Jon finished for him, comprehension rising in his eyes.

Trip nodded. "It's like something out of a bad movie… but it's real life." He closed his eyes and sighed. "I wish it wasn't."

"'If wishes were horses…'"

"I know. I know." Wishing didn't make it go away. Wishing didn't change the past – it always caught up, there was always payback due.

Jon stepped aside. "Get some rest, Commander. Your duty shift starts in eight hours."

Trip blinked and stared. "Captain, I…"

"I don't recall seeing anything in writing." Once again, Jon's expression brooked no argument. "I'm short-handed enough with Hess off, I can't afford to lose you now."

"Yes, Sir." He didn't know what to think. It just didn't make sense, but he wasn't going to fight it.

"It'll take some getting used to." Jon seemed almost to be talking to himself. "Knowing… knowing that you've got that kind of past."

"I know." He'd have to get used to it again, himself.

"I never even cut class when I was a kid. Max used to say it was the biggest thing running against me: I had too much respect for the rules." Jon reached out, let Evil Thing sniff his fingers. "I guess I never imagined that good people could sometimes do bad things."

Trip nodded. "The road to Hell…"

"From what I heard, you've already been there." Jon started walking and Trip fell into step beside him. "That much, I do believe your brother on. That does explain one thing, though."

"What?" He didn't dare hazard a guess, things were too crazy to try and predict anything.

"Why you never listed a college on your application, despite your obvious training." Jon smiled. "Didn't get out to many classes?"

"No. And it wasn't exactly an Ivy-League institution." He allowed a small smile of his own. "I did, however, have plenty of time to study."

"Yeah, well, you don't now. Oh, your quarters are still cordoned off, but Lieutenant Reed said you could bunk with him for a while. He assured me that he already knows how loudly you snore."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you." He meant it. He didn't think he could use those quarters again, not with the memories now in them.

Jon winced. "'Captain,' I can stand. But don't keep calling me 'Sir.' It sounds like you're grovelling."

"Yes, Si… yes, Cap'n." Maybe there was hope yet. Maybe Malcolm was right, and he'd just have to get used to having people around who had faith in him, who gave a damn whether he made it or not. "Why though? I thought you'd…"

Jon nodded. "I talked to someone very wise who pointed out that you were still the same person you've always been… that the past had always been there and I'd just never looked at it before. We can't change who we are… all we can control is who we become."

"Malcolm." It had to be.

"Hess, actually. You'd think having a broken face would shut her up for a moment, but it didn't even come close. She's rescinding the restraining order, by the way… you know, the two of you really have a penchant for overreacting."

"I know. Malcolm says she's going to be okay."

Jon nodded. "Physically. Mentally…"

Trip hugged his cat. Mentally she might never get over it. _I let it happen._ If he'd told Jon from the start, maybe this could have been avoided.

"…I don't think she's ever been okay, mentally." Wry humour invaded Jon's voice; he and Hess always seemed to be at odds. He sighed. "Everything that happened, and her only concern was you. She was afraid you'd do something stupid. She's definitely got you pegged when it comes to guilt."

"I don't like hurting people, Jon." Not that it mattered because he was just too damn good at it.

"I know. And if you'd given me a chance, I would have remembered that." Jon tapped a finger into Trip's temple. "I don't like getting sudden shocks."

"So that's why you're not an engineer." He couldn't help it, the comeback formed of its own free will.

"Exactly. I leave that to you masochists." Then Jon sobered. "Next time, have a little faith in friends, okay?"

"Okay." Next time… it sounded like another chance. "Hopefully, there won't be a next time."

"There better not be." Jon smacked him on the shoulder then left, and Trip stared after him for a long while.

_Good people_. Somehow he'd surrounded himself with them, without even trying. People who did things for you, without the need for payback. And they were still convinced, despite everything he'd done, that he was one of their number. _Amazing_. Somehow, someday, he'd make it up to them. In the meantime, he'd just have to try to live up to their expectations.

Inside Malcolm's quarters, Trip set the cat down and headed into the bathroom. He stared into the mirror, into an all-too-familiar face. He reached out to touch the image, with its slender nose that gently curved up at the end and those eyelashes that women claimed to envy. He traced a finger across the cool glass, over the worry lines that had etched themselves in over the years, from stresses and joys that belonged to him and him alone. _Is this who I've become?_ Apparently.

"I'm better." No, those were the wrong words. They didn't fit at all. "I'm good." That was it. No comparisons, no contrasts. Just a single individual, responsible for himself, living his life the best way he knew how, holding up his end of redemption. "I'm good." Not the 'perfect' he'd tried for, but not the monster he'd thought, either.

Because nobody was perfect, and that – he finally realised – was the secret. Even the saints had flaws, even the best people made mistakes. It was what you did about it that mattered. You couldn't lose the past, you'd always carry it with you, but you didn't have to live there. The only way to move on was to stop running away.

"Right." He turned away from the mirror and left. He headed for Sickbay, pausing when he got there to catch his breath.

Hess lay in a bed near the door, sedated and sleeping. The only other occupant lay on the far side of the room, the bed screened off with a curtain.

Trip stepped behind the curtain and sat down on his brother's bed. The blood was gone, washed away and the small cuts closed with derma-plast. One eye was hidden behind a gauze patch, or maybe it wasn't there at all. A brace held James' body straight and still, blaring the news of a damaged spine. "Hello, brother."

James opened his good eye and Trip saw a flash of shock and fear there, replaced almost instantly by cunning. "Trip. He tried to kill me. That guy…"

Trip leaned in close, his mouth right next to James' ear. "Let me tell you a secret," he whispered. "If Malcolm wanted you dead, you would be." He straightened up and raised his voice to normal. "I just wanted to say goodbye. Before they took you away." He let his eyes show a hint of malicious glee. "Jon doesn't like people who lie to him; I don't think he's going to be your friend anymore."

James' eye narrowed. "You're a dead man, brother."

"Who's going to kill me?" Trip stood up and took a step back, watching as James stared at him helplessly. "It's over, James. No one believes you anymore."

"You're dead if I say you are. You understand that? I'm your brother, and I say you're dead."

"Fine." Trip shrugged. "That sounds good to me. I never wanted a brother, anyway."

"You're _nothing_, you understand me? You're pathetic. You're nothing."

"You know what, James? I guess we are the same after all." Trip turned and walked away. _Pathetic. Nothing_. The secret was out now, and strangely, the world hadn't come to an end. He was still Charles 'Trip' Tucker III, still chief engineer of the Starship _Enterprise_, still a good-ol' Southern boy with his love for pecan pie and catfish. A bad-boy at times, a bit of a rebel, but nothing too serious. Only now… only now more whole than ever before.

It felt good.


End file.
